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"K^' 


NOTES,  CRITICISMS,  AND    COREESPONDENCE 


SHAKESPEARE'S  PLATS  k^J)    ACTORS, 


'^'"'^Waj^Z.   7/y/>v;™*i^*'?'^" 


NOTES,   CRITICISMS,   AND    CORRESPONDENCE 


UPON 


"SHAKESPEARE'S   PLAYS  AND   ACTORS. 


JAMES    HENRY    HACKETT. 


NEW    YORK: 

Carkton,  Fi/hh'shcr^  413  Brmdivay. 

(late  RiDP  &  Carlkton.) 
M  DCCC  LXIII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S63,  by 

JAMES  II.  IIACKETT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tlie  United  States  for  the  Soiilhorn 
District  of  New  York. 


R.    CRAIGHEAD, 

['n liter,  Su-ieoiyper,  aii(t  Klioiruiyper, 

Cnitou  Biiiltiing, 

SI,  83,  aiui  »j  Cadre  Street. 


New  York,  MarcJi,  31««,  18G3, 
JAMES  H.  HACKETT,  Esq. 

My  Dear  Sir — 

I  have  many  thanks  to  render  you  for  the  high  compUment  you 
have  paid  me  in  inscribing  to  me  your  very  interesting  and  valuable 
volume  on  Shakespeare  and  his  characters  and  critics. 

Your  criticisms  on  the  text  and  views  of  the  characters  of  the  great 
bard  are  of  very  great  value  and  originality.  On  several  of  them  I 
might  be  tempted  to  expand  if  I  could  write  with  more  facility,  but 
the  return  of  an  old  sprain  in  the  hand  makes  writing  very  laborious 
to  myself  as  well  as  the  handwriting  obscure  to  others.  The  sjorain 
is  better  to-day, — but  as  you  see,  not  well.  I  can  only  make  a  single 
remark  on  Falstafl". 

I  have  never  read  Maurice  Morgann's  Essay  on  the  question  of  the 
Knight's  courage  or  cowardice ;  but  your  remarks  recall  to  me  an  ob- 
servation of  Col.  Burr — a  sagacious  observer  of  men — that  there  were 
two  quite  distinct  kinds  of  courage,  the  one  purely  physical,  the  other 
arising  from  moral  or  intellectual  causes.  Where  the  two  are  com- 
bined, the  man  is  so  far  a  hero.  "Where  the  purely  physical  or  animal 
firmness  or  insensibility  to  danger  is  wanting,  the  deficiency  may  be 
supplied  by  moral  or  intellectual  causes — sometimes  of  a  high  order, 
often  not  so,  but  still  not  physical.  The  sense  of  duty,  patriotism,  the 
feeling  of  personal  honour,  hate,  revenge,  party,  fanaticism,  may  give 
courage. 

Now,  your  and  Shakespeare's  Knight  seems  to  me  a  cool  man,  but 
he  has  no  moral  courage  high  or  low.  Duty,  patriotism,  loyalty,  are 
of  course  out  of  the  question,  and  he  scoffs  at  the  sense  of  personal 
honour.  Not  troubled  with  any  nervous  trepidation,  but  utterly  sel- 
fish, he  skulks  from  danger  nearly  as  coolly  as  a  brave  man  would 
meet  it. 

In  this  view  Morgann  or  your  own  thoughts  may  have  anticipated 
me. 

Again  thanking  you  for  the  honour  you  have  done  me, 
I  am  yours  truly, 

G.  C.  VERPLANCK. 

1^^  Printed  for  ;pric ate  distribniion  only. 


>1   0 


®l)i5  tlolumc 


IS  PwESPECTFULLY  DEDICATED 

TO   THE 

HON.     GULIAN     C.    YERPLANCK, 

IN 

GRATEFUL  TESTIMONY 

OF 

THE  MxVNY  SEKVICES  HE  HAS  EENDEEED  TO  THE  PUBLIC; 

AND 

PARTICULARLY   FOR   HIS   DEVOTION   AS  AN   EDITOR 
TO 

The  Shakesperean  Drama, 

AND  HIS 

ENLIGHTENED  INTEREST  IN  EVERT  HONEST  EFFORT  FOE  ITS 

PROMOTION  IN  UTERATHEE,  OE  ON  THE  STAGE. 


rm  r^  jT^^^^^^d  '6^'% 


PREFACE 


The  sketches  and  essays  wliicli  occupy  tlie  follow- 
ing pages,  necessarily  partaking  more  or  less  of  a 
personal  character — the  author  so  often  speaking  of 
his  own  experience  or  observations — there  would 
seem  to  be  required  no  further  preface  at  his  hands. 
He  cannot,  however,  neglect  to  avail  himself  of  the 
time-honored  privilege  of  saying  a  word  to  the  reader, 
were  it  only  to  exchange  the  customary  form  of  salu- 
tation when  meeting.  For  he  would  have  his  book 
regarded  not  as  an  elaborate  attempt  at  authorship — 
to  which  he  makes  no  pretensions — but  in  the  spirit 
of  a  familiar  and  friendly,  yet  earnest  conversation, 
when  one  is  listened  to  with  partiality,  as  he  discourses 
upon  topics  of  admitted  interest,  or  revises  the  traits 
of  those  whom  the  world  has  been  accustomed  to 
admire. 

These  papers  have  been  written  at  intervals  in  the 
course  of  many  and  now  by-gone  years,  as  the  respec- 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

tive  occasions  prompted.  In  bringing  tlicm  together 
at  the  present  time,  the  writer  would  acknowledge 
his  obligations  to  his  accomplished  friend,  Mr. 
Edward  S.  Gould,  whose  judgment  he  has  consulted 
in  the  general  arrangement  of  the  volume,  and  to 
whose  friendly  assistance  he  has  been  indebted  in  see- 
ing these  pages  through  the  press,  during  their  writer's 
own  unavoidable  absence  from  the  city. 

James  H.  Hackett. 

New  York,  JDecemher,  1862. 


CONTENTS 


PART  I. 

PAGE 

H.vmlet's  Soliloquy  on  Suicide, 13 


PART  II. 
Hamlet, ....       63 

PART  III. 
King  Lear, 93 

PART  ly. 

Actors  of  Hamlet — CoorER,  "Wallace,  Conway,  Ham- 
BLix,  Edmund  Kean,  Young,  Macready,  Charles 
Kemble,  Booth,  J.  Yandenhoff,  Charles  Kean, 
G-.  Yandenhoff,  E.  Forrest, 118 

PART  Y. 

Correspondence  on  Shakespearean  Subjects  with  John 
Quincy  Adams,  Washington  Irving,  James  and 
Horace  Smith,  authors  of  the  "  Rejected  Addresses," 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAQB 

Chas.  a.  Murray,  Sir  Thomas  Noon  Talfofrd,  Earl 
OF  Carlisle,  John  Payne  Collier — "  Misconceptions 
OF  Shakespeare  on  the  Stage,  Personations  of  the 
Characters  of  Shakespeare,  The  Character  of 
Desdemona,"  by  J.  Q.  Adams — Yerplanck's  Edition 
OF  Hamlet,  Shakespearean  Verbal  Niceties,  Har- 
vey AND  Shakespeare,  Iago, 191 

PART  VI. 
Falstaff, 313 

Sketch  of  Jas.  H.  Hackett, 329 


PART  I. 

HAMLET'S  SOLILOQUY  ON  SUICIDE. 


HAMLETS  SOLILOQUY  0I(  SUICIDE. 


The  classical  Dr.  Goldsmitli  commences  his  "  Six- 
teenth Essay "  thus : — Of  all  the  implements  of 
poetry,  the  metaphor  is  the  most  generally  and  suc- 
cessfully "Used,  and  indeed  may  be  termed  the  Muse's 
caduceus,  by  the  power  of  which  she  enchants  all 

nature Over  and  above  an  excess  of 

figures,  a  young  author  is  apt  to  run  into  a  confusion 
of  mixed  metaphors,  which  leave  the  sense  disjointed, 
and  distract  the  imagination.  Shakespeare  himself  is 
often  guilty  of  these  irregularities.  The  soliloquy  in 
Hamlet^  which  we  have  often  heard  extolled  in  terms 
of  admiration,  is,  in  our  opinion,  a  heap  of  absurdi- 
ties, whether  we  consider  the  situation,  the  sentiment, 
the  argumentation,  or  the  poetry.  Hamlet  is  informed 
by  the  Ghost  that  his  father  was  murdered,  and  there- 
fore he  is  tempted  to  murder  himself,  even  after  he 
had  promised  to  take  vengeance  on  the  usurper,  and 
expressed  the  utmost  eagerness  to  achieve  this  enter- 
prise. It  does  not  appear  that  he  had  the  least  reason 
to  wish  for  death ;  but  every  motive  which  may  be 


14  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

supposed  to  influence  the  mind  of  a  young  prince, 
concurred  to  render  life  desirable — revenge  toward 
the  usurper ;  love  for  the  fair  Ophelia^  and  the  ambi 
tion  of  reigning.  Besides,  when  he  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  dying  without  being  accessory  to  his  own 
death  ;  when  he  had  nothing  to  do  but,  in  obedience 
to  his  uncle's  command,  to  allow  himself  to  be  con- 
veyed quietly  to  England,  where  he  was  sure  of  suffer- 
ing death — instead  of  amusing  himself  with  medita- 
tions on  mortality,  he  yqvj  wisely  consulted  the  means 
of  self-preservation,  turned  the  tables  upon  his  attend- 
ants, and  returned  to  Denmark.  But  granting  him 
to  have  been  reduced  to  the  lowest  state  of  despond- 
ence, surrounded  with  nothing  but  horror  and  de- 
spair, sick  of  this  life,  and  eager  to  tempt  futurity, 
we  shall  see  how  far  he  argues  like  a  philosopher. 

In  order  to  support  this  general  charge  against  an 
author  so  universally  held  in  veneration,  whose  very 
errors  have  helped  to  sanctify  his  character  among 
the  multitude,  we  will  descend  to  particulars,  and 
analyze  this  famous  soliloquy. 

Hamlet^  having  assumed  the  disguise  of  madness, 
as  a  cloak  under  wdiich  he  might  the  more  effectu- 
ally revenge  his  father's  death  upon  the  murderer 
and  usurper,  appears  alone  upon  the  stage  in  a  pen- 
sive and  melancholy  attitude,  and  communes  with 
himself  in  these  words  : 

"  To  be,  or  not  to  be  ?     That  is  the  question. 
Wliethcr  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  shngs  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  15 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 

And  by  opposing,  end  tliem  ? — To  die — to  sleep — 

No  more  !  and  by  a  sleep,  to  say,  we  end 

The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to ; — 'tis  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  -wished. — To  die — to  sleep — 

To  sleep  1  perchance  to  dream  ;  ay,  there's  the  rub  ; 

For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 

When  we  have  shuffled  ofif  this  mortal  coil, 

Must  give  us  pause. — There's  the  respect 

That  makes  calamity  of  so  long  life. 

For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time  ! 

Th'  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud*  man's  contumely, 

The  pangs  of  despisedt  love,  the  law's  delay, 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  th'  unworthy  takes, 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  bare  bodkin  ?     Who  would  fardels  bear, 

To  groan  and  sweat  under  a  wearj'^  life, 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death 

(That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourne 

No  traveller  returns)  puzzles  the  will — 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all; 

And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 

Is  sickUed  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 

And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment. 

With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry 

And  lose  the  name  of  action." 

*  The  Folio  reads — '•  the  poor  man's  contumely ;"  the  contumely 
which  the  poor  man  is  obliged  to  endure. — Malone. 

\  The  Folio  reads — "pangs  of  disprized  love;"  meanmg  a  love 
which  is  found  to  be  unvaliced  or  disre<?arded. — J.  H.  Hackeit. 


16  HAMLET  S  SOLILOQUY  ON  SUICIDE. 

We  have  already  observed  that  there  is  not  any 
apparent  circumstance  in  the  fate  or  situation  of 
Hamlet^  that  should  prompt  him  to  harbor  one 
thought  of  self-murder  ;  and  therefore  these  expres- 
sions of  despair  imply  an  impropriety  in  point  of 
character.  But  supposing  his  condition  was  truly 
desperate,  and  he  saw  no  possibility  of  repose  but 
in  the  uncertain  harbor  of  death,  let  us  see  in  what 
manner  he  argues  on  that  subject.  The  question  is, 
"  To  be,  or  not  to  be  ;"  to  die  by  my  own  hand,  or 
live  and  suffer  the  miseries  of  life.  He  proceeds  to 
explain  the  alternative  in  these  terms,  "  Whether 
'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer,  or  endure  the  frowns 
of  fortune,  or  to  take  arms,  and,  by  opposing,  end 
them."  Here  he  deviates  from  his  first  proposition, 
and  death  is  no  longer  the  question.  The  only 
doubt  is,  whether  he  will  stoop  to  misfortune,  or 
exert  his  faculties  in  order  to  surmount  it.  This, 
surely,  is  the  obvious  meaning,  and  indeed  the 
only  meaning  that  can  be  implied  in  these  words, 
"  Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer  the  slings 
and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune,  or  to  take  up  arms 
against  a  sea  of  troubles,  and,  by  opposing,  end 
them."  He  now  drops  this  idea,  and  reverts  to  his 
reasoning  on  death,  in  the  course  of  which  he  owns 
himself  deterred  from  suicide  by  the  tliought  of 
what  may  follow  death ;  "  the  dread  of  something 
after  death  (that  undiscovered  country,  from  wliose 
bourne  no  traveller  returns.")  This  might  be  a  good 
argument  in  a  heathen  or  pagan,  and  such  indeed 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  17 

Hamlet  really  was  ;  but  Shakespeare  has  already 
represented  him  as  a  good  Catholic,  who  must  have 
been  acquainted  with  the  truths  of  revealed  religion, 
and  says  expressly  in  this  very  play — "  Had  not  the 
Everlasting  fixed  his  canon  'gainst  self-murder  V 
Moreover,  he  has  just  been  conversing  with  his 
father's  spirit,  piping  hot  from  purgatory,  which 
we  presume  is  not  within  the  hoicrne  of  this  world. 
The  dread  of  what  may  happen  after  death  (says  he) 

"  Makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 
Hian  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of," 

This  declaration  at  least  implies  some  knowledge  of 
the  other  w^orld,  and  expressly  asserts,  that  there 
must  be  ills  in  that  world,  though  w^hat  kind  of  ills 
they  afe  we  do  not  know.  The  argument,  there- 
fore, may  be  reduced  to  this  lemma :  "  This  world 
abounds  with  ills  which  I  feel ;  the  other  world 
abounds  with  ills  the  nature  of  which  I  do  not 
know  ;  therefore,  I  will  rather  bear  those  ills  I  have, 
"  than  fly  to  others  which  I  know^  not  of ;"  a  deduc- 
tion amounting  to  a  certainty,  with  respect  to  the 
only  circumstance  that  could  create  a  doubt,  mainlj, 
whether  in  death  he  should  rest  from  his  misery  ; 
and  if  he  was  certain  there  were  evils  in  the  next 
world,  as  well  as  in  this,  he  had  no  room  to  reason 
at  all  about  the  matter.  AYhat  alone  could  justify 
his  thinking  on  this  subject,  would  have  been  the 
hope  of  flying  from  the  ills  of  this  world,  without 


18  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

encountering  any  others  in  the  next.  Nor  is  Ilamlet 
more  accurate  in  the  following  reflection  : 

"  Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all." 

A  bad  conscience  will  make  us  cowards,  but  a  good 
conscience  will  make  us  brave.  It  does  not  appear 
that  anything  lay  heavy  on  his  conscience  :  and 
from  the  premises  we  cannot  help  inferring  that 
conscience,  in  this  case,  was  entirely  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Hamlet  was  deterred  from  suicide  by  a  full 
conviction  that  in  flying  from  one  sea  of  troubles 
which  he  did  know,  he  should  ftill  into  aiwther  which 
he  did  not  know. 

His  whole  chain  of  reasoning,  therefore,  seems 
inconsistent  and  incongruous.  "  I  am  doubtful 
whether  I  should  live,  or  do  violence  upon  fny  own 
life ;  for,  I  know  not  whether  'tis  more  honorable  to 
bear  misfortune  patiently,  than  to  exert  myself  'iw 
opposing  misfortune,  and  by  opposing,  end  it."  'Let 
us  throw  it  into  the  form  of  a  syllogism ;  it  will 
stand  thus  :  "  I  am  oppressed  with  ills ;  I  know 
not  whether  'tis  more  honorable  to  bear  those  ills 
patiently,  or  to  end  them  by  taking  arms  against 
them  ;  ergo^  I  am  doubtful  whether  I  should  slay 
myself,  or  live.  To  die,  is  no  more  than  to  sleep  ;  and 
to  say  that  by  a  sleep  we  end  the  heart-ache,"  etc., 
^'  is  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be  wish'd." 

Now,  to  say  it  was  of  no  consequence,  unless  it 
had   been  true.     "  I  am  afraid  of  the  dreams  that 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  19 

may  liappen  in  that  sleep  of  cleatli ;  and  I  clioose 
rather  to  bear  those  ills  I  have  in  this  life,  than  fly 
to  otJier  ills  in  that  undiscovered  country  from  whose 
bourne  no  traveller  ever  returns.  I  have  ills  that 
are  almost  insupportable  in  this  life.  I  know  not 
what  is  in  the  next,- because  it  is  an  undiscovered 
country ;  ergo^  I'd  rather  bear  those  ills  I  have  than 
fly  to  others  which  I  know  not  of."  Here  the  con- 
clusion is  by  no  means  warranted  by  the  premises. 
"  I  am  sore  aiiiicted  in  this  life  ;  but  I  will  rather 
bear  the  afflictions  of  this  life,  than  plunge  myself 
in  the  afflictions  of  another  life  ;  ergo^  conscience 
makes  cowards  of  ns  all."  But  this  conclusion 
w^ould  justify  the  logician  in  saying,  negatur  conse- 
qioens  /  for  it  is  entirely  detached  both  from  the 
major  and  the  minor  proposition. 

The  soliloquy  is  not  less  exceptionable  in  the 
propriety  of  expression  than  in  the  chain  of  argu- 
mentation. "  To  die — to  sleep — no  more,"  contains 
an  ambiguity,  which  all  the  art  of  pimctuation  can- 
not remove  ;  for  it  may  signify  that  "  to  die,"  is  to 
sleep  no  more  ;  or  the  expression  "no  more"  may  bo 
considered  as  an  abrupt  apostrophe  in  thinking,  as 
if  he  meant  to  say,  "  no  more  of  that  reflection." 

"Ay,  there's  the  rub" — is  a  vulgarism  beneath 
the  dignity  of  Hamlet^s  character,  and  the  words 
that  follow  leave  the  sense  imperfect : 

"  For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 
When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil, 
Must  give  us  pause." 


20  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

ISTot  the  dreams  that  might  come,  but  the  fear  of 
^vhat  dreams  might  come,  occasioned  the  pause  or 
hesitation.  IiesjKct  in  the  same  line  may  be  allowed 
to  pass  for  consideration  ;  but 

"  Th'  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud*  man's  contumely," 

according  to  tlie  invariable  acceptation  of  the  words 
wrong  and  contumely^  can  signify  nothing  but  the 
wrong  sustained  by  the  oppressor,  and  the  con- 
tumely or  abuse  thrown  upon  the  proud*  man  ; 
though  it  is  plain  that  Shakespeare  used  them  in  a 
diflerent  sense ;  neither  is  the  word  spurn\  a  sub- 
stantive ;  yet  as  such  he  has  inserted  it  in  these 
lines : 

"  The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  th'  unworthy  takes." 

If  we  consider  the  metaphors  of  the  soliloquy,  we 
shall  find  them  jumbled  together  in  a  strange  con- 
fusion. 

If  the  metaphors  were  reduced  to  painting,  we 
should  find  it  a  very  diflicult  task,  if  not  altogether 
impracticable,  to  represent  with  any  proj^riety  out- 
rageous fortune,  with  her  slings  and  arrows,  between 
which,  indeed,  there  is  no  sort  of  analogy  in  nature. 
Neither  can  any  figure  be  more  ridiculously  absurd 
than  that  of  a  man  taking  arms  against  the  sea,  ex- 

*  The  first  folio  reads  ^^poor  man's." 

f  Also,  ngain  "  gives  my  soul  the  greatest  spurn." 

[^I'Uus  Andron.,  Act  3,  Scene  1. 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  21 

elusive  of  the  incongruous  medley  of  slings,  arrows, 
and  seas,  jostled  within  the  compass  of  one  reflec- 
tion. What  follows  is  a  strange  rhapsody  of  broken 
images,  of  sleeping,  dreaming,  and  shifting  off  a 
coil^  which  last  conveys  no  idea  that  can  be 
represented  on  canvas.  A  man  may  be  exhibited 
sliuffliiig  off  his  garments  or  his  chains ;  but  how 
he  should  shuffle  off  a  coil^"^  wliich  is  another  term 
£pr  noise  and  tumult,  we  cannot  comprehend.  Then 
we  have  "  long-liv'd  calamity,"  and  "  time  armed 
with  whips  and  scorns,"  and  patient  "  merit  spurned 
by  unworthiness,"  and  "  misery  with  a  bare  bodkin 
going  to  make  his  own  quietus^^  which  at  best  is  but 
a  mean  metaphor.  These  are  followed  by  figures 
"  sweating  under  fardels  of  burdens,"  "  puzzled  with 
doubts,"  "  shaking  with  fears,"  and  "  flyiug  from 
evils."  Finally,  we  see  "resolution  sicklied  o'er  with 
pale  thought,"  a  conception  like  that  of  representing 
health  by  sickness;  and  a  "  current  of  pitli  turned 
away,  so  as  to  lose  the  name  of  action,"  which  is 
both  an  error  in  fancy  and  a  solecism  in  sense.  In 
a  word,  this  soliloquy  may  be  compared  to  the 
jEgri  somnia  and  the  Tabula  citjus  vanw  fiiigoitur 
species.\ 

*  A  coil,  in  Shakespeare,  means  a  tumult,  hubbub,  etc. ;  shuffle  off 
this  mortal  coil,  rid  one's  self  of  this  mortal  strife  and  confusion. 

^  ^^  Ay,  ihe7-e's  the  ruli^ — (Dr.  Goldsmith  remarks) — "  is  a  vulgarism 
beneath  the  dignity  of  Hdmlefs  character."  It  might  have  been  tlms 
conventionally  considered  in  Dr.  Goldsmith's,  but  not  in  Shakespeare's 
day ;  and  for  the  reason  that  besides,  in  numerous  other  instances  of 


22  haj^ilet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

Highly  as  I  have  been  prepossessed  in  favor  of 
Dr.  Goldsmith's  taste  and  purity  of  style  in  compo- 
sition,! cannot  nnscrupnlonsly  swallow  such  a  dose 
of  sweeping  condemnation,  which  seems  to  me 
hypercritical,  despite  his  deprecation  at  the  com- 
mencement of  a  shock  to  our  sensibilities,  founded 
upon  a  bias  toward  "  an  author  so  universally  held 
in  veneration,  and  whose  very  errors  have  helped  to 
sanctify  his  character  among  the  multitude."  • 

Let  us  first  inquire  whether  some,  at  least,  of  his 
premises  are  not  false — whether  some  of  the  errors 
imputed  to  Shakespeare  are  not  the  critic's  own 
errors  of  perception.  The  reasoning,  as  well  as 
some  of  the  metaphors,  have  proved  stumbling- 
blocks  to  other  learned  critics. 

its  use  in  rhythmical  measure,  the  word  nib  is  put  into  the  mouths  of, 
namely  : 

"  To  leave  no  rubs  nor  botches  in  tlio  work." — Macbeth. 

"  Shall  blow  each  dust,  each  straw,  each  little  r?i&, 
Out  of  the  path,"  etc. 

^Cardinal  Pandulph,  {in  King  John?) 

"  'Twill  make  me  think  the  world  is  full  of  rubs. 
And  that  my  fortune  runs  against  the  bias." 

l^The  Queo7i,  {in  Bioha-rd  Second.) 

•'  Every  rub  is  smoothed  in  our  way." — King  Ile/nry  V. 

"  What  r«&,  or  what  impediment,  there  is." 

\_I)uke  of  Burgimdy. 

"  perceive 

The  least  rub  in  your  fortunes." 

\_Duke  of  Buckingham,  {Ilenry  VIIl.) 

■ "nor  has  Coriolanus 

Deserved  this  so  dishonored  rub,  laid  falsely." 

[Gomhdm,  the  Roman  Oenerdk 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  23 

Dr.  Jolmson  remarks : — "  Of  this  celebrated  solilo- 
quy, -which,  bursting  from  a  man  distracted  with  a 
contrariety  of  desires,  and  overwhelmed  with  the 
magnitude  of  his  own  purposes,  is  connected  rather 
in  the  speaker's  mind  than  on  his  tongue,  I  shall 
endeavor  to  discover  the  train,  and  to  show  how  one 
sentiment  produces  another. 

"  Hamlet^  knowing  himself  injured  in  the  most 
enormous  and  atrocious  degree,  and  seeing  no  means 
of  redress  but  such  as  must  expose  him  to  extremity 
of  hazard,  meditates  on  his  situation  in  this  manner : 
Before  I  can  form  any  rational  scheme  of  action 
under  this  pressure  of  distress^  it  is  necessary  to 
decide,  whether,  after  our  present  state^  we  are  to 
be,  or  not  to  be.  That  is  the  question  which,  as  it 
shall  be  answered,  will  determine  whether  His  nohler^ 
and  more  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  reason,  to  suffer 
the  outrages  of  fortune  patiently,  or  take  arms 
against  thcm^  and  by  opposing,  end  them,  tlicnigh^ 
perhaps^  with  the  loss  of  life.  If  to  die,  were  to 
slec])^  no  niore^  and  hy  a  sleep  to  end  the  miseries  of 
our  nature,  such  a  sleep  were  devoutly  to  le  icishedj 
but  if  to  sleep  in  death  be  to  dream^  to  retain  our 
powers  of  sensibility,  we  vcivi^i  pause  to  consider,  in 
that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come.  This 
consideration  makes  calamity  so  long  endured  ;  for 
who  would  hear  the  vexations  of  life,  which  might 
be  ended  hy  a  hare  hodJdn^  but  that  he  is  afraid  of 
something  in  unknown  futurity  ?  This  fear  it  is  that 
gives  efficacy  to  conscience,  which,  by  turning  the 


24:  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

mind  iij3on  this  regard^  chills  tlie  ardor  of  resolution^ 
checks  the  vigor  of  enterprise^  and  makes  the  cur- 
rent  of  desire  stagnant  in  inactivity.    - 

"  "We  may  suppose  that  he  would  have  aj)plied 
these  general  observations  to  his  own  case,  but  that 
he  discovered  Oplielia^^ — Johnson. 

Mr.  Malone,  in  his  edition  of  Shakespeare,  quotes 
the  foregoing,  and  then  adds : — "  Dr.  Johnson's 
explication  of  the  first  five  lines  of  this  passage  is 
surely  wrong.  Hamlet  is  not  deliberating  whether 
after  our  present  state  we  are  to  exist  or  not,  but 
■whether  he  should  continue  to  live,  or  put  an  end  to 
his  life — as  is  pointed  out  by  the  second  and  the 
three  following  lines,  which  are  manifestly  a  para- 
phrase on  the  first : — '  Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the 
mind  to  sufi'er,'  etc.,  '  or  to  take  arms.'  The  ques- 
tion concerning  our  existence  in  a  future  state  is  not 
considered  till  the  tenth  line  : — '  To  sleep  !  perchance 
to  dream^  etc.  The  train  of  Ilarnlefs  reasoning 
from  the  middle  of  the  fifth  line,  'If  to  die,  were  to 
sleep,'  etc..  Dr.  Johnson  has  marked  out  with  his 
usual  accuracy.  In  our  poet^s  '  Rape  of  Lucrece' 
we  find  the  same  question  stated,  which  is  proposed 
in  the  beginning  of  the  present  soliloquy  : 


'  With  herself  she  is  in  mutiny, 

To  live  or  die,  which  of  the  twain  were  better.'  " — Malone. 

A  precedent  for  the  figure — "  arroios  of  out- 
rageous fortune^^ — Mr.  Steevens  finds  in  one  of 
Cicero's  Epistles  :  Fam.  v.  16. 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  25 

Mr.  Theobald  remarks  : — "  A  sea  of  troubles, 
among  the  Greeks,  grew  into  a  proverbial  usage. 
So  that  the  expression  figm-atively  means  the 
troubles  of  human  life,  which  flow  in  upon  us,  and 
encompass  us  round  like  a  sea." 

Dr.  Johnson  observes  : — "  Mr.  Pope  proposed 
seige.  I  know  not  whj  there  should  be  so  much 
solicitude  about  this  metaphor.  Shakespeare  breaks 
his  metaphors  often,  and  in  this  desultory  speech 
there  was  less  need  of  preserving  them." 

Mr.  Steevens  sajs  : — "  A  similar  phrase  occurs 
in  Rjharde  Morjsine's  translation  of  '  Ludovicus 
Yives's  Introduction  to  Wjsedome,'  154^ :  '  how 
great  a  sea  of  evills  every  day  over-runneth,'  etc." 

And  Mr.  Malone  concludes  his  notes  with — "  One 
cannot  but  wonder  that  the  smallest  doubt  should 
be  entertained  concerning  an  expression  which  is  so 
much  in  Shakespeare's  manner  ;  yet  to  preserve  the 
integrity  of  the  metaphor.  Dr.  AYarburton  reads 
assail  of  troubles.  Shakespeare  might  have  found 
the  very  phrase  that  he  has  employed,  in  the  tragedy 
of  Queen  Cordila,  'Mirrour  of  Magistrates,'  1575, 
which  he  undoubtedly  had  read  : 

'  For  lacke  of  frendes  to  tell  my  seas  of  giltlesse  sinarV  " 

"  Shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil — i.e.,  turmoil,  bus- 
tle."—  War  burton. 

''  A  most  intelligent  Shakespearian  critic,  Thomas 
Caldecott,  remarks  upon  the  word  coil: — '  Coil  is 
here  used  in  each  of  its  senses — that  of  turmoil  or 


26  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

bustle,  and  tliat  which  entwines  or  wraps  round.' 
'  This  muddy  vesture  of  decay.'  Those  folds  of  mor- 
tality that  encircle  and  entangle  us.  Snakes  gene- 
rally lie  in  folds  like  the  coils  of  ropes ;  and  it  is 
conceivable  that  an  allusion  is  here  had  to  the 
struofirle  which  that  animal  is  obliged  to  make  in 
casting  his  slough,  or  extricating  himself  from  the 
skin  that  forms  the  exterior  of  this  coil,  and  which 
he  throws  off  annually.' " — J.  H.  H. 

"  There's  the  respect — ^.<?.,  the  consideration.  See 
Troilus  and  Cressida,  Act  2,  sc.  2." — Malone. 

"  The  whijps  and  scorns  of  Time. — The  evils  here 
complained  of  are  not  the  product  of  time  or  dura- 
tion simply,  but  of  a  corrupt  age  or  manners.  We 
may  be  sure,  then,  that  Shakesj^eare  wrote  : 

'  the  whips  and  scorns  of  th'  time.' 

And  the  description  of  the  evils  of  a  corrupt  age, 
which  followed,  confirms  this  emendation." —  War- 
hurton. 

"  It  may  be  remarked,  that  Hamlet,  in  his  enume- 
ration of  miseries,  forgets,  whether  properly  or  not, 
that  he  is  a  prince,  and  mentions  many  evils  to 
which  inferior  stations  only  are  exposed." — Johnson, 

I  think  we  might  venture  to  read  : — "  The  whips 
and  scorns  o'  the  times''^ — i.e.,  times  satirical  as  the 
age  of  Shakespeare,  which  probably  furnished  him 
with  the  idea,  etc.,  etc. 

Whips  and  scorns  are  surely  as  inseparable  com- 
panions as  public  punishment  and  infamy. 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  27 

Quips,  the  word  which  Dr.  Johnson  wonkl  intro- 
duce, is  derived,  by  ail  etymologists,  from  whips. 

Hamlet  is  introduced  as  reasoning  on  a  question 
of  general  concernment.  lie  therefore  takes  in  all 
such  evils  as  could  befall  mankind  in  general,  with- 
out considering  himself  at  present  as  a  prince,  or 
wishing  to  avail  himself  of  the  few  exceptions 
which  one  in  high  place  might  have  claimed. 

In  part  of  "  King  James  I.'s  Entertainment,  pass- 
ing to  his  Coronation,"  by  Ben  Jonson  and  Decker, 
is  the  following  line,  and  note  on  that  line  : — 

"  And  first  account  of  years,  of  months,  of  time. 
By  time  we  understand  the  present." 

^'  This  explanation  aftbrds  the  sense  for  which  I 
have  contended,  and  without  change." — Steevens. 

Time.)  for  the  times ^  is  used  by  Jonson  in  "  Every 
Man  Out  of  His  Humour  :" 

"  Oh,  how  I  hate  the  monstrousness  of  timeP 

So,  in  Basse's  "  Sword  and  Buckler,"  1602  : 

"  If  I  should  touch  particularly  all 
Wherein  the  moodie  spleene  of  captious  Time 
Doth  tax  our  functions " 

So,  also,  to  give  a  prose  instance,  in  '^  Cardanus 
Comfort,"  translated  by  Thomas  Bedingfield,  1576, 
we  have  a  description  of  the  miseries  of  life,  strongly 
resembling  that  in  the  text : — "  Hunger,  thurste, 
sleape  not  so  plentiful  or  quiet  as  deade  men  have, 


28  ilvmlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

lieate  in  soiuiner,  colJc  iu  winter,  disorder  of  tyrtie^ 
tcrroure  of  warres,  controlenient  of  parentes,  cares 
of  wedlock,  studye  for  children,  sloutlie  of  servants, 
contention  of  sutes^  and  that  (whiche  is  moste  of  all) 
the  condicion  of  tyme  wherein  Jwnestye  is  disdaynd^ 
and  folje  and  crafte  is  honoui'ed  as  wisdome." — 
Bosnoell. 

The  word  whips  is  used  by  Marston  in  his 
"  Satires,"  1599,  in  the  sense  required  here  : 

"  Ingenious  Melancholy, — 
Inthrone  thee  in  my  blood ;  let  me  intreat, 
Stay  his  quick  jocund  skips,  and  force  him  run 
A  sad-pac'd  course,  untill  my  whips  be  done." — Malone. 

^'  The  PKOUD  niarCs  contumely. — Thus  the  quarto. 
The  folio  reads  '  the  poor  man's  contumely ;'  the  con- 
tumely which  the  poor  man  is  obliged  to  endure  : 

"  NH  hahet  infelix  paupertas  durius  in  se, 
Quam  quod  ridiculos  homines  facit^ — Malone. 

"  Of  despis'd  love. — The  folio  reads,  of  dispri^d 
love.  So  too,  '  Great  deal  disprizing  the  knight  op- 
posed.'    (Troilus  and  Cressida,  Act  4.)" — Steevens. 

Dispriz'd,  the  word  found  in  the  first  folio  (1623), 
has  seemed  to  me  the  most  suitable  adjective  in 
such  connection  ;  for  the  reason  that  as  Love  begets 
Love,  and  Hate  his  kind,  so  Love  that  finds  itself 
despised^  instead  of  returned,  by  its  object,  soon 
leaves  the  heart,  and  its  place  is  not  unapt  to  be 
filled  ])y  rank  hatred;  but,  the  pangs  of  disprized 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  29 

love  are  those  of  one  whose  spirit  sinks  and  writhes 
under  the  pride-stung  consciousness  that  the  being 
towards  whom  their  own  heart  yearns  disprizes  their 
irresistible  affection.  It  is  this  species  of  love  which 
dispHzed  (unvalued,  or  unrequited,  or-  entertained 
with  indifference)  cannot  be  diverted  or  superseded, 
or,  as  if  despised^  find  a  relief  in  hatred — but  brood- 
ing over  its  own  subtile  mortification,  produces  that 
poignant  melancholy,  which,  rankling  within  a 
proud  soul,  may  stimulate  to  suicide.  (See  my 
quotation  from  this  in  my  Correspondence  with 
Hon.  John  Quincy  Adams,  1839.) 

"  Might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  hare  bodkin." — The  first  expression  proba- 
bly alluded  to  the  writ  of  discharge,  which  was 
formerly  granted  to  those  barons  and  knights  who 
personally  attended  the  king  on  any  foreign  expedi- 
tion.    This  discharge  was  called  a  quietus. 

It  is  at  this  time  the  term  for  the  acquittance 
which  every  sheriff  receives  on  settling  his  accounts 
at  the  Exchequer. 

The  word  is  used  for  the  discharge  of  an  account, 
by  Webster,  in  his  "  Duchess  of  Malfy,"  1623  : 

"  And  'cause  you  shall  not  come  to  me  in  debt, 
(Being  now  my  steward)  here  upon  your  lips 
I  sign  your  quietus  est.^^ 

Again : 


30  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

"  You  had  the  trick  in  audit  time  to  be  sick, 
Till  I  had  sign'd  your  (juieius." 

A  hodkin  was  tlic  ancient  term  ioY  fx  small  dagger. 
So,  in  tlie  second  j^art  of  the  "  Mirrour  for  Kniglit- 
hood,''  quarto,  1598  : — "  Not  having  any  more 
weapons  but  a  poor  poynado,  which  usually  he  did 
bear  about  him,  and  taking  it  in  his  hand,  delivered 
these  speeches  nnto  it.  Thou,  silly  hodhin^  shalt 
finish  the  piece  of  work,"  etc. 

In  the  margin  of  "  Stowe's  Chronicle,"  edit. 
1614,  it  is  said,  that  Csesar  was  slain  with  'bodkins  ; 
and  in  "  The  Muses'  Looking-Glass,"  by  Eandolph, 
1638  : 

"  A^iho. — A  rapier's  but  a  hodhin. 
Deil. — And  a  hodkin 

Is  a  most  dang'rous  weapon  ;  since  I  read 
Of  Julius  Cresar's  death,  I  durst  not  venture 
Into  a  taylor's  shop,  for  fear  of  hodkinsy 

Again,  in  "The  Custom  of  the  Country,"  by  Beau- 
mont and  Eletcher : 

"  out  with  your  hodkin^ 


Your  pocket-dagger,  your  stiletto." 

Again,  in  "  Saplio  and  Phao,"  1591 :  "  There  will  be 
a  desperate  fray  between  two,  made  at  all  weapons, 
from  the  brown  bill  to  the  lodhm.''^  Again,  in 
Chaucer,  as  he  is  quoted  at  the  end  of  a  pamphlet, 
called  "  The  Serpent  of  Division,"  etc.,  whereunto 
is  annexed  the  "  Tragedy  of  Gorboduc,"  etc.,  1591 : 


HAMLET  S   SOLILOQUY   ON   SUICIDE.  31 

"  With  bodkins  was  Caesar  Julius 
Murdered  at  Rome  of  Brutus  Crassus." — Steevens. 

Bj  "  a  hare  bodkin,"  does  not  perhaps  mean,  "  by 
so  little  an  instrument  as  a  dagger,"  but  "  by  an 
unslieathed  dagger." 

"  111  the  account  which  ]\Ir.  Steevens  has  given 
of  the  original  meaning  of  the  term  quietus^  after 
the  words,  '  who  personally  attended  the  king  on 
any  foreign  expedition,'  should  have  been  added, 
'  and  were  therefore  exempted  from  the  claims  of 
scutage,  or  a  tax  on  every  knight's  fee.'  " — Malone. 

"  To  GRUNT  and  sweat. — Thus  the  old  copies.  It 
is,  undoubtedly,  the  true  reading,  but  can  scarcely 
be  borne  by  modern  ears." — Johnson, 

Stanyhurst,  in  his  translation  of  Yirgil,  1582,  for 
suj^vewjum  congemuit^  gives  us,  '^  for  sighing  it 
gruntsP  Again,  in  Trubervile's  tra,nslation  of 
Ovid's  E^nstle  from  Canace  to  Macareus : 

"  "What  might  I  wiser  do  ?  greefe  forst  me  grunts 

Again,  in  the  same  translator's  Hypermnestra  to 
Lynceus  : 

"  round  about  I  heard 

Of  dying  men  the  grunts." 

The  change  made  by  the  editors  [to  groan']  is,  how- 
ever, supported  by  the  following  line  in  "  Julius 
Csesar,"  Act.  4,  sc.  1  : 

"  He  shall  but  bear  them  as  the  ass  bears  gold ; 
To  groan  and  sweat  under  the  business, 
Either  led  or  driven,  as  we  point  the  way." 


82  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

I  ai>prclicn(l  that  it  is  the  duty  of  an  eclltor  to 
exhibit  wluit  his  author  wrote,  and  not  to  substitute 
what  may  appear  to  the  present  age  preferable  ;  and 
Dr.  Johnson  was  of  the  same  opinion.  See  his  note 
on  the  word  Irngger^miigger^  Act  4,  so.  5.  I  have, 
therefore,  tliougli  with  some  reluctance,  adhered  to 
the  old  copies,  liowever  unpleasing  this  word  may 
be  to  the  ear.  On  the  stage,  without  doubt,  an 
actor  is  at  liberty  to  substitute  a  less  offensive  word. 
To  the  cai*s  of  our  ancestors  it  probably  conveyed 
no  unpleasing  sound  ;  tor  we  find  it  used  by  Chaucer 
and  others : 

"  But  never  groni  he  at  n«  stroke,  but  on/'  etc.,  etc. 

The  MonJce's  Tale. 

Again,  in  "  "Wily  Beguiled,"  written  before  1596  : 

"  She's  never  well,  but  grunting  in  a  corner." — Mdlone. 

"  The  undiscover'd  country,  from  whose  bourn 

N'o  TRAVELLER  returns^ — This  has  been  cavilled  at 
\>y  Lord  Orrery  and  others,  but  without  reason. 
The  idea  of  a  traveller  in  Shakespeare's  time  was, 
of  a  person  who  gave  an  account  of  his  adventures. 
Every  voyage  was  a  discovery.  John  Taylor  has 
''  A  Discovery  by  Sea  from  London  to  Salisbury." — 
Farmer. 

Again,  Marston's  ^'  Insatiate  Countess,"  1G03  : 

"  Wrestled  with  death. 


From  whose  stern  cave  none  tracks  a  backward  path." 
"  Qui  nunc  it  per  iter  tenehricosum^ 
I  Hue  unde  negant  redire  quemquam.'^ — Catullus. 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  83 

Again,  in  Sandford's  translation  of  "  Cornelius 
Agrippa,"  etc.,  1569  (once  a  book  of  uncommon 
popularity) :  "  The  count7'ie  of  the  dead  is  irreme- 
able, that  they  cannot  retoxirne.^  Again,  in  "  Cym- 
beline,"  says  the  Gaoler  to  Posthunms :  "  How  you 
shall  speed  in  your  journey's  end  [after  execution], 
I  think  you'll  neve7'  return  to  tell  one.^'' — Steevens. 

This  passage  has  been  objected  to  by  others  on  a 
ground  which,  at  first  view  of  it,  seems  more  plausi- 
ble. Hamlet  himself,  it  is  objected,  has  had  ocular 
demonstration  that  travellers  do  sometimes  return 
from  this  strange  country.  I  formerly  thought  this 
an  inconsistency.  But  this  objection  is  also  founded 
on  a  mistake.  Our  poet,  without  doubt,  in  the  pas- 
sage before  us,  intended  to  say,  that  from  the 
unknoion  regions  of  the  dead  no  traveller  returns 
with  all  his  corporeal  poioers,  such  as  he  who  goes 
on  a  voyage  of  discovery  brings  back  when  he 
returns  to  the  port  from  which  he  sailed.  The  tra- 
veller whom  Hamlet  had  seen,  though  he  appeared 
in  the  same  habit  which  he  had  worn  in  his  lifetime, 
was  nothing  but  a  shadow :  "  invulnerable  as  the 
air,"  and  consequently  incorporeal.  If,  says  the 
objector,  the  traveller  has  reached  this  coast,  it  is 
not  an  undiscovered  country.  But  by  undiscovered^ 
Shakespeare  meant,  not  undiscovered  by  departed 
spirits,  but  undiscovered,  or  unknown  to  "  such  fel- 
lows as  we  who  crawl  between  earth  and  heaven  ;" 
superis  incognita  tellus.  In  this  sense  every  coun- 
try, of  which  the  traveller  does  not  return  alive  to 

2^^ 


84  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

give  an  account^  may  be  said  to  be  ^undiscovered. 
The  GJiost  ]ias  given  ns  no  account  of  the  region 
from  whence  lie  came,  being,  a8  he  himself  informed 
lis,  ''  fur])id  to  tell  the  secrets  of  his  prison-house." 

Marlowe,  before  our  poet,  had  compared  death  to 
a  journey  to  an  undiscovered  country: 

"  weep  not  for  Mortimer, 

That  scorns  the  world,  and,  as  a  traveller^ 

Goes  to  discover  countries  yet  unknown. 

— King  Edward  11.  1598,  {written  lefore  1593)'  " — Malone. 

Perhaps  this  is  another  instance  of  Shakespeare's 
acquaintance  with  the  Bible :  "  Afore  I  goe  thither, 
from  vjJience  I  shall  not  turne  agcdne^  even  to  the 
land  of  darknesse  and  shadowe  of  deathe  ;  yea,  into 
that  darke,  cloudie  lande  and  deadlye  shadowe 
wdierein  is  no  order,  but  terrible  feare  as  in  the 
darknesse."     (Job,  ch.  x.) 

" '  The  way  that  I  must  goe  is  at  hande,  but 
whence  I  shall  7iot  turne  againe.''  (Job,  ch.  xvi.)  I 
quote  Cramner's  Bible." — Douce. 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all. 

*'  I'll  not  meddle  with  it ;  it  maJces  a  man  a  coward." 

[Rich.  III. :  Act  1,  so.  4. 
"  0  coward  conscience,  how  dost  thou  afflict  me." 

[Ibid:  Act  5,  sc.  3." — Blaheway. 

"  Great  pith."— Thus  the  folio.  Tlie  quartos  read, 
"  of  <^rQiit  jntcL^^—Steevens. 

"  l*itch  seems  to  be  the  better  reading.     The  allu- 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  35 

sion  is  to  i\\Q  pitching  or  tJirowiiig  the  har  /  a  manly 
exercise,  usual  in  country  villages." — Hitson. 

IS'ot  to  speak  it  profanely,  Mr.  Ritson's  idea  \^far 
fetched.  Pith  (as  per  folio)  was  tlie  word,  and 
used  in  a  similar  sense,  as  in — 

"that's  my  pitJi  of  business." — Measfor  Meas. 

"marked  not  what's  the  pith  of  all." 

[^Taming  of  the  Shrew, 


"  the  pith  and  marrow  of  our  attribute." — Hamlet. 

"  let  it  feed  even  on  the  pith  of  life." — Ihid. 

"  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years  ^lYA." — Othello. 

Then  awey. — Thus  the  quartos.  The  folio,  "  turn 
away.^''  The  same  printer's  error  occurs  in  the  old 
copy  of  "Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  where  we  find, 
"your  crown's  away^^  instead  of  "your  crown's 
awry.^^ — Steeve7i8. 

Thus  have  I  quoted  the  most  erudite  and  eminent 
of  Shakespeare's  commentators  upon  such  words 
and  metaphors  as  are  comprised  in  Hmnlet^s  solilo- 
qxty  on  suicide^  and  the  meaning  or  propriety  of 
which  has  suggested  their  doubts  or  questions.  But, 
as  in  the  early  part  of  this  nineteenth  century,  there 
was  discovered,  in  the  library  of  the  Duke  of  Devon- 
shire, a  single  edition  of  "  ITamlet,"  1603,  (the  only 
known  copy  of  the  play  as  originally  written  by 
Shakespeare,  and  the  same  which  he  afterward 
altered  and  enlarged  to  that  which  appears  in  the 
folio  of  1623,)  containing  many  of  Shakespeare's  ori- 
ginal crude  or  undigested  thoughts,  which  he  after- 


36  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

^vard  worked  over  or  elaborated,  and  among  others, 
his  previous  sketch  or  draft  of  this  famous  soliloquy, 
a  reference  to  it  may  assist  to  elucidate  some  point 
that  has  been  involved  in  doubt,  and  also  gratify  the 
curiosity  of  any  one  inclined  to  discover  where 
Shakespeare  thought  fit  to  turn  critic  and  improve 
upon  his  own  earlier  compositions. 

It  should  be  premised,  however,  perhaps,  to  a 
modern  reader,  that,  besides  standing  as  a  numeral 
for  one^  the  ninth  letter  of  the  alphabet,  /,  which  in 
later  times  became  confined  to  signify  the  pronoun 
of  the  first  person^  was  in  Shakespeare's  day  written 
also  to  express  ay  or  yes.  Wherever  Shakespeare 
wrote  aye^  the  word  means  ever  or  always. 

Ham. — ''  To  be,  or  not  to  be,  I  there's  the  point, 
To  die,  to  sleepe,  is  that  all  ?     I  all : 
No,  to  sleepe,  to  dreame,  I  mary  there  it  goes, 
For  in  that  dreame  of  death,  when  wee  awake, 
And  borne  before  an  everlasting  Judge, 
From  whence  no  passenger  ever  returned, 
The  undiscovered  country,  at  whose  sight, 
The  happy  smile,  and  the  accursed  damn'd. 
But  for  this,  the  joyful  hope  of  this, 
Whoe'd  beare  the  scornes  and  flattery  of  the  world. 
Scorned  by  the  right  rich,  the  rich  curssed  of  the  poore. 
The  widow  being  oppressed,  the  orphan  wrong'd, 
The  taste  of  hunger,  or  a  tirant's  raigne. 
And  thousand  more  calamities  besides, 
To  grunt  and  sweat  under  this  weary  life, 
When  that  he  may  his  full  quietus  make, 
With  a  bare  bodkin,  who  would  this  indure, 
But  for  a  liope  of  something  after  death? 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  37 

Which  piisles  the  braine,  and  doth  confound  the  sence, 
Which  makes  vs  rather  beare  those  evilles  we  have, 
Than  flie  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 
I  that,  0  this  conscience  makes  cowards  of  vs  all, 
Lady  in  thy  orizons,  be  aU  my  sinnes  remembered." 

Tlie  soliloquy  here  consists  of  twenty-two  lines 
only  ;  in  the  folio  of  1623  it  fills  thirty-three  lines. 
Shakespeare  found  occasion  in  that  to  introduce 
new  or  different  suhject-matter  for  reflection.  He 
also  strengthened  many  of  his  original  expressions, 
and,  indeed,  seems  to  have  almost  entirely  reformed, 
by  diifusion  and  compression  alternately,  the  links 
in  the  chain  of  the  self-argument. 

In  the  edition  of  1603,  preserving  the  first  half  of 
the  opening  line — "  To  be,  or  not  to  be  " — the 
author  struck  out  "  ay,  there's  the  point,"  and  sub- 
stituted "  that  is  the  question."     Then  he  introduces : 

"  Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune, 
Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 
And  by  opposing,  end  them  ?" 

At  this  point  he  falls  back  upon  his  second  original 

line: 

"  To  die,  to  sleep,  is  that  all  ?  ay,  all :" 

and  resolves  \\,for  the  contimiity : 

''  To  die  ?— to  sleep  !— 


No  more." 
There  Shakespeare  stopped  to  reconnoitre  Hamlefs 


88  hamlet's  soliloquy  ox  suicide. 

postulate  and  the  natural  consequences,  and  pursu- 
ing his  self-inqairj,  added : 

"  and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say,  we  end 


The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to, — 'tis  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wish'd." 

Here  he  again  returns,  and  resumes  his  self-debate 
from  the  third  line  of  the  original  soliloquy : 

"  No,  to  sleepc,  to  dreame,  ay  mary  there  it  goes," 

first  reiterating, 

"  To  die— to  sleep—" 

and  then  suggesting  the  likelihood  of  a  dream  : 

"  To  sleep  !  perchance  to  dream ;  ay,  there's  the  rub," 

he  specifies  the  respective  considerations  which 
should  restrain  his  impulses  or  compel  him  to  hesi- 
tate. He  changes  the  expression  from  dream  to 
"  sleep  of  death ;"  and  substitutes  for 

"  when  we  awake 


And  borne  before  an  everlasting  Judge," 

"  what  dreams  may  come, 

When  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coiL" 

Possibly  Shakespeare  may  have  considered  that 
his  own  ideas  were  not  quite  clear  in  their  inception, 
and  had  been  rather  conglomerated  in  their  original 
expression  ;  as  he  continued  to  separate  and  to  arrange 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  39 

tliem  in  a  more  logical  and  intelligible  order  :  for 
example,  in  place  of  liis  first  hypothesis  of  being 
"in  a  dream  of  death,  and  awakened  and  borne 
before  an  everlasting  Judge,  from  whence  no  j^cis- 
senger  ever  returned,"  and  also,  of  the  opening  to 
''  sight  an  undiscovered  country  "  which  should  have 
the  effect  to  make  "  the  happy  smile,  and  the 
accursed  (feel)  damn'd,"  we  find  the  author  has 
changed  the  idea  to  one  suggestive  of  ''^  sleejy  of 
death,"  (which  knows  no  waking,)  together  with 
that  dread — ^^  what''''  (possibly  horrid)  "dreams"  in 
the  eternal  sleep  a  suicide  might  discover  as  his  fate, 
who,  aware  that  the  Everlasting  had  "  fixed  his 
canon  'gainst  self-slaughter,"  had  thus  defiantly 
attempted  to  rid  himself  of  life's  turmoils,  and  had 
hastily  "  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil,"  and  those 
ill  fortunes  which  Destiny  had  seen  fit  to  deal  out, 
as  his  lot  in  this  world. 

Keferring  to  the  immediate  antecedent — 

"  The  undiscovered  country,  at  whose  sight 
The  happy  smile,"  etc., 

the  line — 

"  But  for  this,  the  joyful  hope  of  this  " 

is  omitted,  and,  instead  of  retaining  entire, 

"  But  for  the  hope  of  something  after  death," 

the  author  thought  fit  to  alter  "  hope  "  to  "  dreads 


40  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

"But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death 
(That  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
No  traveller  returns)  puzzles  the  will " — 

(not  "puzzles  the  h^aine,^^  as  previously  written,) 
and,  after  apostrophizing  "conscience"  in  a  line, 
add^^  finally : 

"  And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution 
Is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought ; 
And  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment, 
"With  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry, 
And  lose  the  name  of  action." 

Tlie  idea  connected  with  the  words  ^'shuffled  off'''' 
may  be  discovered  in  its  concordance  in  another 
play : 

"  Often  good  turns 

Are  shufled  off  with  such  uncurrent  pay ; 

But,  were  my  worth,  as  is  my  conscience,  firm, 

You  should  find  better  dealing^ 

[Twelfth  Night,  Act  3,  sc.  3. 

In  conchision,  with  reference  to  the  matter  con- 
tained in  this  soliloquy  as  it  appeared  in  the  earlier 
edition,  (1603,)  it  is  highly  interesting  to  imagine 
what  thoughts  might  have  originated  in  the  brain  of 
such  a  mighty  genius,  and  what  his  motives  were 
for  each  change  of  word,  or  sentence,  or  order  in 
expression  ;  but,  with  what  a  nice  regard  to  a  com- 
bination of  poetry  with  philosophy  and  human 
nature,  Shakespeare  has  condensed  the  spirit  of  his 
first  ideas  and  leas  digested  reflections  in  the  latest 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  41 

edition  of  this  soliloquy,  only  such  as  may  have  the 
taste,  time  and  patience  to  investigate  for  them- 
selves can  thoroughly  appreciate. 

In  March,  1828,  happening,  when  engaged  in  dis- 
cursive reading,  to  pick  up  a  volume  of  "  The  Bri- 
tish Classics,"  containing  Goldsmith's  Essays,  I 
quoted  the  preceding  matter,  and  wrote  the  previous 
comments  and  the  following  remarks  upon  that  jDor- 
tion  of  Goldsmith's  XYIth  Essay  which  relates  to 
"  Hamlet's  Soliloquy  on  Suicide  :" — 

In  reference  to  the  first  charge  preferred  against 
Shakespeare,  that  he  has  given  Hamlet  not  "the  least 
reason  to  wish  for  death,"  it  should  be  recollected, 
that  Hcunlefs  mind  was,  upon  our  first  introduction 
to  him,  strongly  operated  upon  by  the  recent  and 
sudden  death  of  a  parent  whom  he  had  dearly  loved, 
and  whose  memory  he  reverenced — that,  whilst  in 
the  full  and  unabated  indulgence  of  his  grief,  his 
mother,  forgetful  of  his  father's  recent  decease,  and 
in  defiance  of  common  decency,  had  been  actually 
won,  within  a  month  after  that  fatal  event,  to  the 
incestuous  bed  of  his  paternal  uncle. 

Perhaps  a  touch  of  disappointed  ambition,  but 
more  apparently  the  continual  recurrence  of  these 
facts  to  his  sensitive  mind,  at  times  disgusted  him 
with  life  ;  and,  to  add  to  his  mortification,  his  suc- 
cession had  been  hindered,  and  the  throne  usurped, 
by  one  whose  very  dethronement,  since  his  marriage 
with  his  mother,  would  tend  more  deeply  to  dis- 
grace  the   royal    family   of   Denmark,   which,   as 


42  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

appears  by  the  catastroplie,  consisted  of  these  three 
only. 

In  the  midst  of  these  afflictions,  lie  is  informed 
tliat  the  ghost  of  his  father  has  been  seen  "two 
nights  together  "  upon  the  platform  before  the  cas- 
tle, where, 

"  With  martial  stalk,  hath  he  gone  by  our  watch;" 

has  sought  and  had  an  interview  aj^^art  with,  the 
apparition,  learned  that  murder  has  been  joined  to 
the  crime  of  incest  in  obtaining  the  crown,  his  own 
by  right ;  but,  though  Hmnlet  is  expected  to 
revenge  upon  his  beastly  uncle  his  father's  "foul, 
strange  and  unnatural "  murder,  his  pursuit  of  it  is 
embarrassed  by  the  Ghosfs  injunction: 

"  Taint  not  thy  mind,  nor  let  thy  soul  contrive 
Against  thy  mother  aught ;  leave  her  to  heaven, 
And  to  those  thorns  that  in  her  bosom  lodge 
To  prick  and  sting  her." 

As  soon  as  Hamlet  recovers  from  the  appalling 
effect  of  that  horrid  revelation,  sufficient  of  itself  to 
overwhelm  and  prostrate  his  faculties,  without  the 
superadded  and  preternatural  agency  of  his  father's 
disembodied  spirit  to  render  it  still  more  terrific  and 
impressive,  he  resolves  that  the  preliminary  step  of 
his  policy  shall  be  the  semblance  of  madness ; 
because,  such  a  reputed  state  of  mind  will  at  once 
exempt  him  from  being  an  object  of  further  machi- 
nations from  his  murderous  uncle,  whose  security  in 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  43 

the  throne  would  be  greatly  enhanced  by  Hamlets 
incapability ;  and,  also,  whilst  evident  insanity 
would  protect  his  life  and  neutralize  any  apprehen- 
sion in  his  uncle's  mind  of  Hamlet^ s  attempt  to  vin- 
dicate his  own  rights,  would  afford  Hamlet  more 
opportunity  to  reconnoitre  his  uncle's  unguarded 
licentiousness. 

In  order  that  the  story  of  the  Ghost  may  not  get 
currency,  and  thereby  discover  any  clue  to  his  stra- 
tagem and  assumed  madness,  Hamlet  has  prayed  of 
the  only  three  others  who  have  seen  the  apparition — 

"  If  you  have  hitherto  concealed  this  sight, 
Let  it  be  tenable*  in  your  silence  still " — 

and,  of  the  two  officers  of  the  watch,  particularly, 
and  under  their  oath,  not  to  divulo^e  anvthino^  con- 
cerning  him,  should  he  "  think  meet  to  put  an  antick 
disposition  on." 

One  of  the  most  signal  traits  of  Hamlets  idiosyn- 
crasy is  his  fickleness  of  purpose  or  irresolution. 
Of  that  morbid  fertility  is  his  imagination,  that 
often  before  he  is  able  to  realize  to  himself  an  idea 
it  has  started,  another  dispels  or  displaces  it,  and  his 
utterance,  incapable  of  keeping  pace  with  their  flow, 
and  blending  their  expression,  becomes  confused 
and  unintelligible  without  scrutiny. 

*  The  folio  of  1623  reads,  "  let  it  be  irtbU  in  your  silence  still,"  and, 
although  Steevens  thinks  "tenable"  in  the  quarto  "right,"  I  doubt  it; 
as  the  meaning  of  treble  (or  triple)  may  be,  "the  sight  remain  known 
to  you  tliree  only,"  namely,  Horatio,  Marcellus  and  Bernardo. 


44  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

Dr.  Johnson  says : — "  Of  the  feigned  madness  of 
Hamlti  tliere  appears  no  adequate  cause,  for  he  does 
nothing  he  might  not  have  done  with  the  reputation 
of  sanity."  Granted,  that  he  accomplishes  little  or 
nothing  in  any  of  his  plans  or  objects;  but  he 
repeatedly  purposed  to  do  a  great  deal ;  and  it  is 
the  differing  shades  of  his  discrepancy  between  the 
understandings  and  moral  habits  and  actions  of 
mankind  which  constitute  our  peculiarities  of  cha- 
racter. Hamlet  was  of  an  impulsive  temperament, 
and  very  dissimilar  to  such  as  are  naturally  phleg- 
matic, and  who  resolve,  after  mature  and  delib^*ate 
reflection,  and  steadily  execute  their  purposes. 
Hamlet'' s  nature  is  like  the  flint-struck  steel,  which 
"  shows  a  hasty  spark,  and  straight  is  cold  again." 
All  his  resolutions  must  be  formed  out  of  some 
excitement  of  the  blood.  "When  the  Ghost  first  inti- 
mates, and  calls  upon  him  to  revenge,  his  murder.^ 
he  impatiently  interjects : 

"  Haste  me  to  know  it ;  that  I,  with  wings  as  swift 
As  meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love, 
May  sweej)  to  my  revenge  " — 

and  could  he  hnmediately  have  encountered  his 
murderer,  whilst  his  blood  was  inflamed,  would 
unhesitatingly  have  fulfilled  his  vow  of  vengeance 
then,  as  he  did,  upon  an  after-occasion,  in  "  his 
brainish  apprehension,"  kill  Polonius.  The  moment 
his  blood  cools,  he  relapses  into  the  philosopher. 
Hardly  does  one  incentive  to  action  present  itself  to 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  45 

Ills  mind,  before  it  is  blasted  in  the  bud,  or  neutral- 
ized by  some  paralyzing  obstacle.  His  inconsist- 
ency of  conduct  has  in  some  instances  been  unde- 
servedly complained  of  through  ignorance  of  Haiii- 
lefs  motives.  Once,  particularly,  he  summons  all 
his  resolution,  and  fully  bent  on  sacrifice,  seeks  his 
uncle,  whom  he  then  chances  to  find  at  prayer  : — 
his  heart,  which  revolted  even  at  retributive  slaugh- 
ter in  cold  blood,  failed  him,  and  suggested  to  his 
judgment  a  parley  before  procedure,  and  the 
sophism  that  it  would  be  "hire  and  salary — not 
revenge," 

"  To  take  him  in  the  purging  of  his  soul, 
When  he  is  fit  and  seasoned  for  his  passa^," 

who  had  killed  his  brother 

"  With  all  his  crimes  broad  blown,  as  flush  as  May;" 

and,  under  the  alleged  pretext  that  slaying  his  uncle 
then  "  would  be  scaun'd  "  and  be  regarded  as  an 
encouraging  example  to  a  murderer,  Hamlet  deter- 
mines with  himself  that  it  is  inexpedient  at  that 
juncture  to  kill  King  Claudius^  and  prefers  to 
await  some  opportunity  when  his  uncle  may  be 

"  about  some  act 


That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in't : 
Then  trip  him,  that  his  heels  may  kick  at  heaven : 
And  that  his  soul  may  be  as  damn'd,  and  black, 
As  hell,  whereto  it  goes." 


46  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

This  obvious  subterfuge  for  bis  own  irresolntion 
has  been  harbaronsly  misconstrued  by  some  igno- 
rant or  superficial  critics,  who  impute  to  Hamlet  the 
possession  of  a  demoniacal  spirit  of  revenge,  unsa- 
tisfied with  the  killing  of  the  body  only,  and  desir- 
ous of  extending  its  gluttonous  malignancy  to  the 
soul  after  its  separation :  whereas,  the  real  motive 
which  underlies  the  sophistry  ought  to  be  transpa- 
rent to  any  one  reading  carefully  Hamlet^s  conduct 
and  character,  either  before  or  after.  Take,  for  one 
of  the  many  examples,  his  own  acknowledgment  of 
his  instability  of  purpose  and  self-reproof : 

"  How  all  occasions  do  inform  against  me, 
And  spur  my  dull  revenge ;"  etc. 

Dr.  Johnson  continues : — "  Hamlet  plays  the  mad- 
man most  when  he  treats  Ophelia  with  so  much 
rudeness,  which  seems  to  be  useless  and  wanton 
cruelty."  With  regard  to  its  uselessness^  I  would 
suggest  a  reference  to  the  fact,  that  Hamlet^  having, 
immediately  after  the  Ghost^s  revelation,  thought  fit 
to  put  an  antic  disposition  on,  sought  a  subject  and 
a  medium  for  circulating  through  the  Court  a  report 
of  his  insanity  /  some  strange  freak  of  conduct  was 
necessary  as  a  preliminary,  and  Avhat  sort  of  mental 
derangement  so  likely  to  be  esteemed  harmless  to 
all,  and  aflPord  perfect  security  to  the  suspicious 
mind  of  the  guilty  usurper,  as  the  madness  proceed- 
ing from  unrequited  love  ?  The  notoriety  of  his  ten- 
der j)assion  for  Ophelia,  and  the  fact  that  she  had 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  47 

recently,  by  the  command  of  her  father,  returned  his 
letters  and  rejected  his  visits,  afforded  a  promising 
opportunity  to  establish  such  a  starting-point  with- 
out exciting  anyone's  suspicion. 

However  strongly  the  current  of  Hamlefs  passion 
for  Ophelia  had  been  set  previously,  it  had  been 
checked  by  his  then  mourning  his  father's  recent 
and  sudden  death,  and,  now  particularly  that  he  had 
Yowed  to  remember  his  perturbed  spirit,  and 

"  Thy  commandment  aU  alone  shall  hve 
Within  the  book  and  volume  of  my  brain," 

his  thoughts  had  been  diverted  from  a  course  of  l(yoe 
and  bound  in  another  Q\\2imiQ\^  filial  duty. 

K  an  origination  of  the  report  of  Hamlefs  mad- 
ness, and  its  apparent  cause  from  the  least  suspicious 
source  (and  Hamlefs  object  was  to  secure  such 
report's  ready  access  to  tlie  King  and  Queen),  could 
he  have  selected  a  more  fit,  inoffensive,  and  sure 
course,  than  through  Ojphelia^  who  would  naturally, 
and  dutifully,  and  forthwith  communicate  Hamlefs 
behavior  to  her  father,  whose  propensity  would  lead 
to  its  immediate  promulgation  to  the  King  and  the 
Court  ?  I  think  the  means  Hamlet  adopted  were 
exceedingly  well  calculated  to  produce  the  impres- 
sion he  wished  to  make,  and  that  up  to  this  stage  of 
his  proceeding,  there  is  no  evidence  of  his  rriadnesa 
being  other  than  etsstimccl.  His  "  rudeness,"  then, 
was  not — if  it  could  be  so  considered  at  all — "  use- 
less and  wanton  cruelty."     But  was  Hamlet  either 


48  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

rude  or  cruel  to  Oj)heUaf  To  judge  from  her  de- 
scription of  Hamlefs  beliavior,  when  she  had  "  been 
affrigided^  as  she  was  sewing  in  her  closet,"  Ophelia 
did  not  reorard  it  as  either  rude  or  cruel,  but 
'''  jpiteous^^''  in  its  effect  upon  her ;  and,  in  reference 
to  his  conversation  with  her,  when  her  father  and 
the  King  had  conspired  to  send  for  Hamlet,  when 
he  might,  as  'twere  by  accident,  meet  Ophelia, 
whilst  they,  so  bestowed  as  to  be  unseen  by  him, 
could  thus  covertly  see  and  hear  what  should  pass 
between  them,  and  to  which  esjnonage  she  has  lent 
herself  by  loalking  in  Hamlefs  w^ay  and  seeming  to 
read  a  hook,  as  instructed,  it  should  be  premised 
that  the  text  furnishes  a  reasonable  inference  that 
Hamlet  has  acquired,  either  by  a  personal  glimpse 
of  his  sp)ies,  or  other  incident  of  the  scene,  some 
idea  of  Ophelia^s  duplicity  and  unfair,  not  to  say 
unfaithful  or  ungenerous,  position  with  respect  to 
him,  when  he  commences  to  interrogate,  and  she  to 
equivocate — he  to  animadvert  and  she  at  last  to 
answer  his  direct  question,  "Where's  your  father?" 
with  "At  home!"  which  Hamlet  may  have  known 
to  be  2i^  palpable,  as  she  did  it  was  an  absolute, y(:^Z^<3- 
hood.  Hamlet^ s  language,  however,  though  earnest 
and  pungent,  was  neither  rude,  nor  wanton,  nor 
cruel ;  nor  were  his  sentiments,  as  it  seems,  in  any 
way  offensive.  The  effect  was  to  impress  her,  by 
the  sudden  change,  from  his  habitually  mild  and 
gentle  language  and  manners  to  strong  and  uugallant 
invective,  with  a  belief  that  he  was  hopelessly  mad. 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  49 

Keaii  (Edmuud),  as  Hamlet^  after  concluding  his 
words  to  Ojjhdta — "To  a  nuniieiy,  go!"  and  de- 
parting abruptly  out  of  sight  of  his  audience,  used 
to  come  on  the  stage  again  and  approach  slowly  the 
amazed  Oi)lielia  still  remaining  in  the  centre  ;  take 
her  hand  gently,  and,  after  gazing  steadily  and 
earnestly  in  her  face  for  a  few  seconds,  and  with  a 
marked  expression  of  tenderness  in  his  own  counte- 
nance, appeared  to  be  choked  in  his  efforts  to  say 
something,  smothered  her  hand  with  passionate 
kisses,  and  rushed  wildly  and  finally  from  her  pre- 
sence. The  conception  was  clearly  indicated  and 
neatly  executed  in  each  point,  whether  justified  by 
the  circumstances  of  the  interview  or  not.  A  more 
effective  bit  of  serious  pantomime  by  way  of  episode 
that  master  of  his  art  never  exhibited  upon  any 
stage.     It  was  a  whole  history  in  little  ! 

Reverting  to  the  situation  of  Ilaml-et  immediately 
preceding  the  soliloquy  on  suicide.  He  had  no 
sooner  put  on  the  guise  of  insanity  than  he  dis-' 
covered  that  the  king  had  sent  for  and  made  spies 
of  his  two  friends,  ItosenGrantz  and  Guildenstern, 
whom  he  had  found  bent  upon  plucking  out  the  very 
heart  of  his  own  mysterious  behavior,  and  resolved 
to  scrutinize  his  every  movement.  It  is  now  that 
the  consciousness  of  the  wrongs  he  has  suffered — 
the  perplexity  he  finds  in  steering  the  course  he  has 
adopted — the  delicacy  of  his  situation  with  respect 
to  his  mother — the  uncertainty  of  the  stratagem 
for  making   his   uncle's    "  occulted   guilt"    "  itself 

3 


50  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

unlvenneV  by  the  effect  of  tlie  play — then  the 
melanchuly  and  bitter  satisfaction  its  success  at  best 
must  afford  him,  together  with  its  reflections  upon 
liis  own  infirmity  of  purpose  when  compared  with 
the  ability  of  the  player  to  assume  upon  an  imagin- 
ary occasion — these  all  conspire  to  predispose  his 
mind  to  philosopliize  concerning  the  value  or  worth- 
lessness  of  human  existence,  and  particularly  under 
his  own  embarrassing  circumstances.  It  is  in  such 
a  frame  of  thought,  that  Hamlet  enters  just  before 
the  mock-play  and  commences  the  soliloquy — "  To 
be,  or  not  to  be,"  etc. 

The  assertion  that  "  Hamlet  deviates,  after  the 
first  line,  from  the  proposition — to  die  by  his  ow^n 
hand,  or  to  live  and  suffer  the  miseries  of  life" — 
when  he  follows  up  with,  "  Whether  'tis  nobler  in 
the  mind  to  suffer,"  etc. — is  a  different  construction 
of  the  metaphor  it  contains  from  that  w^hich  I  under- 
stand the  passage  to  convey.  Instead  of  supposing 
him  to  be  debating  with  himself,  "  whether  he  will 
stoop  to  misfortune,  or  exert  his  faculties  in  order  to 
surmount  it,"  thereby  (as  the  critic  observes)  "  giv- 
ing over  his  reasoning  on  death,  which,  he  alleges, 
is  no  longer  the  question,"  though  he  admits  that 
"  Hamlet  instantly  reverts  to  it,"  I  will  endeavor  to 
show  it  to  be  thus  far  one  unbroken  continuation  of 
the  same  chain  of  ideas.  The  fact  is,  Hamlet  never 
alludes  to  the  alternative  of  ending  his  difficulties 
by  raising  an  army  or  claiming  his  rights  by  force 
of  arms ;  the  arm  to   which   he   contem}>hitcs   the 


hamlet's  soliloquy  ox  suicide.  51 

effect  of  a  recourse  is  no  other  than  the  unsheathed 
dagger — (particularized  afterward  in  the  course  of 
his  reasoning  as  "  a  hare  hodhin'''') — and  hy  opjposing 
(it  to  his  heart — the  fountain  of  existence,  and  com- 
paring it,  in  its  then  agitated  condition,  to  '^  a  sea 
of  trouhles^^)  end  them.  That  is  the  kind  of  arm, 
and  such  the  sea^  the  poet  intended  to  prefigure  in 
Ilctmlefs  hypothesis.  The  analogy  between  the  sea^ 
with  the  ebbing  and  flowing  of  its  tides,  as  they  are 
propelled  and  returned  back  and  forth  through  vari- 
ous branching  rivers,  channels,  and  tributary  creeks, 
and  other  passages,  and  the  heart,  by  whose  im- 
pulses the  hlood  is  constantly  forced  and  courses 
through  the  veins  and  arteries  of  the  body  until  it 
returns  to  its  source  and  is  again  emitted,  must  be 
obvious  to  every  one  upon  reflection  ;  thus,  instead 
of  "a  ridiculously  absurd  figure,"  is  the  idea  beau- 
tifully poetic.  Among  Shakespeare's  numerous 
figures  in  reference  to  the  heart,  he  thus  associates 

with  the  sea 

"  a  Tieartj 

As  full  of  troubles  as  a  sea — of  sands." 

\_Two  Gent,  of  Verona. 

Othello,  too,  in  allusion  to  his  heart,  calls  it — 

''  The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs 
Or  else  dries  up." 

Hamlet,  in  his  self -debate  on  suicide,  hy  "  sea  of 
troubles,"  had  only  and  special  reference  to  his 
heart  and  its  physical  functions — namely — 


52  hamlet's  soliloquy  ox  suicide. 

"  The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
^  Halli  2>ro\i(llii  flowed  in  vanity  till  noiv, 

Now  doth  it  turn  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea." 

[^Second  Part  of  King  Henry  IV. 

That  the  word  ^'  sea,"  in  this  context^  is  iised  as 
figurative  or  suggestive  of  the  heart,  is  undeniable  ; 
heeause  the  *'  blood"  can  "  turii  and  ebb  back^''  to  no 
other  "  56'(X." 

Dr.  Goldsmith's  classical  taste  discerns  and  com- 
plains that  "  Shakespeare  himself  is  often  guilty  of 
an  excess  of  figures  and  of  running  into  mixed  meta- 
phors, which  leave  the  sense  disjointed  and  distract 
the  imagination."  As  "  from  tlie  fulness  of  the 
heart  the  mouth  speaketh,"  so  it  may  be  natural  to 
a  richly  endowed  poetical  genius  to  be  apt  to  in- 
dulge in  a  profusion  even  unto  a  redundancy,  occa- 
sionally, and  the  breaking  unavoidably,  sometimes, 
or  a  mixing  of  metaphors.  It  is  an  evidence  of  a 
meagre  mind  when  its  figures  are  too  continuousi|y 
pursued  and  attenuated. 

As  to  there  being  "  nothing  analogous  in  nature 
to  Fortune  with  her  slings  and  arrows,^''  I  do  not  per- 
ceive any  special  "  disjointure  of  the  sense^''  if  there 
be  any  particular  transgression  of  poetical  license. 

Among  "  the  thousand  natural  shocks  that  flesh  is 
heir  to,"  what  is  there  so  very  absurd  or  poetically 
unnatural  in  representing  "  outrageous  Fortune" — 
that  blind,  and  fickle,  and  inexorable  goddess — with 
a  sling^  hurling  stones  and  stunning  the  sense  of 
some  unlucky  victim  ?   or  in  her  shooting  an  arroio 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  53 

and  lacerating  the  kind  lieart  of  another  unde- 
servedly, and  in  her  wantonness  ?  Have  not  slin(/s 
and  arrows  been  primitive  instruments  of  human 
torture,  and  may  they  not  be  used  with  equal  pro- 
priety as  symljols  of  suffering^  as  the  poisoned  bowl 
and  the  ruthless  dagger  are  2,^  figurative  of  death  f 

With  respect  to  the  flat  contradiction  chai'ged  in 
making  Hamlet  speak  of  "  '  the  undiscovered  coun- 
try from  whose  bourn  no  traveller  returns,'  when 
the  ghost  of  his  father,  piping  hot  from  purgatory 
(a  place  not  within  the  bourn  [or  limit]  of  this 
world),  had  just  been  conversing  with  him,"  it  has 
been  freely  and  ingeniously  canvassed  by  discerning 
commentators,  whom  I  have  quoted  copiously  in  a 
former  paper.  I  may  add,  in  the  way  of  remark, 
that  Hamlet  is  constantly  wavering  in  his  mind,  and 
betwixt  the  supernatural  revelation  from  the  ghost, 
and  the  irreconcilability  of  the  source  of  the  infor- 
mation with  his  philosophy,  he  seems  at  times  to 
doubt  even  the  evidence  of  his  senses,  and  to 
imagine  that  his  faculty  of  eyes  and  ears  has  been 
fooled  by  his  other  senses,  and  to  impute  the  decep- 
tion to  the  effect  of  an  overheated  imagination : — 

''  The  spirit  that  I  have  seen 
May  be  a  devil,  and  the  devil  hath  power 
To  assume  a  pleasing  shape  ;  yea,  and,  perhaps, 
Out  of  my  weakness  and  my  melancholy^ 
(As  he  is  very  potent  with  suc4i  spirits), 
Abuses  me  to  damn  me  :  I'll  have  grounds 
More  relative  than  this  :  the  play's  the  thing 
Wherein  I'll  catch  the  conscience  of  the  king." 


54  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

The  coniinnation  his  mind  receives  from  the  inci- 
dent at  the  phiv,  and  the  emotion  that  so  conclu- 
sively, to  him,  betrayed  his  uncle's  guilt,  seems  to 
be  again  superseded  when  the  Ghost  appears  and 
talks  to  him,  yet  is  invisible  and  inaudible  to  his 
mother  at  the  same  time.  The  Ghost^  too,  in  the 
closet,  thus  seen  only  by  himself,  appears  clad  in  his 
father's  habit  as  he  lived^  whilst  that  which  visited 
the  glimpses  of  the  moon  upon  the  platform,  in 
figure  like  his  father,  appeared  in  armiOT^  was  seen 
at  the  same  time  by  Hamlet'' s  three  companions,  and 
might  have  been  heard,  too,  had  the  Ghost  not 
beckoned  him  to  a  more  removed  ground ;  as 
though  the  apparition  some  impartment  did  desire 
to  Hamlet  alone. 

Shakespeare  may  have,  however,  designed  by  this 
difference  to  indicate  the  turning-point  of  Hamlets 
brain,  where  his  madness  is  no  longer  assumed,  but 
has  become  real  and  constitutional,  and  ready  to 
burst  into  paroxysms  upon  any  occasional  excite- 
ment, and  again  to  subside  and  leave  to  reason  an 
interval  of  temporary  sway.  Such  a  self-conviction 
may,  in  some  measure,  account  for  his  neglect  there- 
after to  pursue  actively  his  revenge,  and  for  the  fact 
of  his  seldom  alluding  to  it  in  subsequent  conversa- 
tion. The  shock  inflicted  upon  his  nervous  system 
when  mistaking  and  killing  Polonius^  seems  to  have 
jDroduced  a  climax  touching  the  subject  whereon  his 
melancholy  had  been  sitting  on  brood,  and  abso- 
lutely deranged  his  intellect. 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  55 

AVhen  Shakespeare  needed  a  gliost  to  come  from 
the  grave  in  order  to  tell  Hamlet  what  his  proplietic 
soul  had  previously  suggested  to  his  imagination,  he 
was,  I  presume,  not  supposed  to  be  restricted  from 
investing  each,  according  to  circumstances,  with  any 
quality  requisite  for  the  occasion.  Finally,  when 
poets  have  need  of  the  influence  of  departed  spirits 
upon  the  affairs  of  this  world,  and  find  it  expedient 
to  their  purposes  to  recall  their  apparitions  to 
scenes  familiar  in  their  lives,  what  may  be  their 
righteous  limits,  license,  faculties  of  communicating 
what  they  know  or  desire,  of  perceiving  what  occurs 
upon  this  earth,  or  of  rendering  themselves  only 
visible  to  certain  persons,  and  at  particular  hours  of 
the  night  most  favorable  to  the  imagination  of  such 
as  they  would  be  noticed  by,  I  have  never  studied ; 
but  have  ever  yielded  the  utmost  latitude  to  the 
erratic  fancy  of  an  author — never  attempting  to 
reconcile  to  my  natural  jjhiloso^phy  a  consistency 
^\\\i  jpretematural  agencies  and  influences  ;  because 
such  things  have  strong  imagination,  and  a  poet's 
eye,  in  a  fine  phrensy  rolling,  requires  space  and 
scope  for  any  utility. 

The  mystery  complained  of,  contained  in  the 
lines — 

"  But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have, 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 
Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all;" 


66  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

may  be  removed  at  once  by  admitting  Harnlefs 
creed  to  be,  that  "  there  (ire  '  ills '  in  the  next  world, 
and  I  would  fly  to  them,  hut  that  I  fear  such  as 
might  be  measured  out  to  me  as  a  suicide^  and  the 
severity  of  which  '  I  know  not  of,'  may  be  greater 
than  the  miseries  I  bear  here ;  and  therefore  I  am 
deterred  from  rushing  into  those  of  the  world  to 
come,  in  order  to  escape  these  which  I  endure  in 
ihis  life." 

"  Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all." 

"  The  logician  might  be  j  nstified  in  saying  of  such 
a  conclusion,  negatur  consequens^^^  if  the  significa- 
tion of  the  word  "  consciences'^  was  confined  to  this 
critic's  understanding  of  its  sense,  and  had  not  a 
legitimate  latitude  of  which  he  does  not  appear 
aware.  The  meaning  of  "  conscience  "  in  this  con- 
text is,  an  internal  sense  of  riglit  or  wrong ^  and 
which  modern  lexicographers  distinguish  by  tJie 
word  (not  expressed  in  Shakespeare's  vocabulary, 
though  frequejitly  implied)  consciousness^  (the  know- 
ledge of  what  passes  in  the  mind)  whilst  they  have 
defined  conscience  to  signify — "  The  faculty  within 
us  w^hich  decides  upon  the  lawfulness  or  unlawful- 
ness of  our  actions." 

In  Shakespeare's  comprehensive  use  of  the  word, 
a  conscience  may  be  good  or  bad,  according  to  its 
owner's  hnowledge  of  what  passes  in  his  mind,  and 
not  necessarily  implying  that  he  is  conscientious  or 
scrupulous  in  obeying  its  dictates.     Conscience,  as  a 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  57 

synonyme  of  conscioitsness^  is  also  used  by  Bacon, 
Hooker,  Pope  and  other  writers.  I  take  Hamlcfs 
meaning  to  be,  as  we  would  with  our  modern  dis- 
tinction of  terms  express  it,  "  It  is  the  consciousness 
tliat  we  would  merit  the  ills  or  condign  punishment 
that  may  be  reserved  by  the  Everlasting  for  such  as 
may  commit  forbidden  acts,  which  "  makes  cowards 
of  us  all." 

Then,  after  recapitulating  the  points  of  his  pre- 
vious objections.  Goldsmith  asserts  that 

"  '  Ay,  there's  tlie  rub  ' 

is  a  vulgarism  beneath  the  dignity  of  Hamlefs 
character."  If  the  vulgarism  consists  in  the  use  of 
the  word  "  rub,"  (a  hindrance  or  obstacle,)  it  is  put 
by  Shakespeare  repeatedly  into  the  mouths  of 
several  of  his  kings  and  queens  and  other  dignified 
personages ;  had  its  particular  quantity  for  the 
metre  of  his  versification  been  the  cause  of  its  use  in 
this  context,  we  should  not  find  the  word  rulj  so 
often  elsewhere ;  besides,  from  its  frequent  use  by 
Dryden,  Davenant,  Swift  and  others,  its  conven- 
tional degradation  in  the  vocabulary  becomes  very 
doubtful ;  but  how  "  it  leaves  the  sense  imperfect," 
according  to  the  critic's  own  showing,  I  am  unable 
to  comprehend. 

The  sense  and  propriety  of  "  the  oppressor's  wrong, 
the  proud  man's  contumely,"  as  governed  in  the 
possessive  case  by  the  preceding  verb  "  bear,"  to  me 
are  obvious.     The  objection  to  the  use  of  the  word 

3* 


58  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

"  spurn "  as  a  substantive  is  also  hypercritical,  if 
Milton  be  allowed  as  authority.  ""What  defence 
can  properly  be  used  in  so  desj)erate  an  encounter  as 
this,  but  either  the  slap  or  the  sjyurnP — Colasterion. 

Finally,  it  seems  to  me  that  "  the  strange  rhap- 
sody of  broken  images,"  of  which  the  critic  com- 
plains, is  perfectly  characteristic  of  Hamlefs  idio- 
syncrasy in  his  peculiar  predicament ;  indeed,  such 
unprecedented  and  unrivalled  individuality  has 
Shakespeare  shown  in  drawing  and  sustaining  each 
of  his  characters  throughout,  and  so  peculiarly 
adapted  to  the  respective  situations  is  their  language, 
that  any  attempt  to  transpose  it,  or  to  change  the 
medium  of  its  use,  or  to  disconnect  sentences  and 
examine  certain  ideas  separately  or  from  an  abstract 
point  of  consideration,  must  be  foreign  to  the  spirit 
and  purpose  of  the  bard  of  Avon. 

Dr.  Goldsmith's  essay,  at  least  so  far  as  concerns 
the  sense  of  the  soliloquy  on  suicide,  I  consider  weak 
and  abortive.  It  is  a  proof  that  a  critic  may  have 
a  refined  taste,  be  learned  and  classical,  and  yet  not 
qualified  to  fathom  the  more  profound  meanings  of 
sucli  an  author  as  Shakespeare. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that,  of  all  the  critics  I  have 
read,  Schlegel  and  Goethe^  with  whom  Shakespeare's 
was  not  their  vernacular,  should  seem,  by  their 
general  remark,  to  have  the  more  clearly  penetrated 
his  designs. 

Goethe,  particularly,  has  given  a  key  to  the  cha- 
racter of  Hamlet.    He  says  : — 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  59 

"  It  is  clear  to  me  that  Shakespeare's  intention 
was  to  exhibit  the  effects  of  a  great  action,  imposed 
as  a  duty  upon  a  mind  too  feeble  for  its  accomplish- 
ment. In  this  sense  I  find  the  character  consistent 
throughout.  Here  is  an  oak-tree  planted  in  a  china 
vase,  proper  only  to  receive  the  most  delicate  flow- 
ers. The  roots  strike  out  and  the  vessel  flies  to 
pieces.  A  pure,  noble,  highly  moral  disposition,  but 
without  that  energy  of  soul  which  constitutes  the 
hero,  sinks  under  a  load  which  it  can  neither  bear, 
nor  resolve  to  abandon  altogether.  All  his  obliga- 
tions are  sacred  to  him.  Observe  how  he  turns, 
shifts,  hesitates,  advances,  and  recedes  !  ITow  he  is 
continually  reminded  and  reminding  himself  of  his 
great  commission,  which  he,  nevertheless,  in  the 
end,  seems  almost  entirely  to  lose  sight  of,  and  this 
without  even  recovering  his  former  tranquillity." — 
WilJiehn  Meister's  Apprenticeshvp, 


PART  II. 

HAMLET. 


EXTRACTS 
FROM    MY   JOURNAL   OF   CORRESPONDENCE,  RESPECTING 

HAMLET. 


In  Jamiaiy,  1839, 1  spent  a  few  weeks  socially  at 
Washington^  D.C. — a  city  wliicli  I  have  very  seldom 
visited  professionally — and  met  the  Hon.  and  Ex- 
President  John  Quincy  Adams  occasionally. 

In  a  conversation  with  him  respecting  the  drama 
in  general,  and  Shakespeare's  especially — of  which 
he  was  notoriously  a  constant  reader — I  observed  to 
him  that  from  boyhood  I  had  read  Hamlet  with 
great  attention,  and  had  interleaved  my  copy  of  the 
play,  and  interspersed  copiously  annexations,  which 
had  been  regarded  by  several  of  our  literary  friends 
as  involvino^  some  new  and  sino'ular  ideas  of  the 
character.  I  reminded  Mr.  Adams  of  the  delight 
he  had  once  afforded  me  as  well  as  a  number  of  his 
friends,  by  his  remarTcs  upon  that  same  character, 
after  dinner  at  the  table  of  Mr.  Hone  (Ex-Mayor 
Philip),  of  Kew  York,  and  I  proposed  to  send  him 


64  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

my  MS.  notes  for  'perusal^  wliicli  he  politely  inti- 
mated lie  would  ''  gladly  give  them." 

When  Mr.  Adams  returned  my  noted-co'pj  of 
Hamlet^  it  was  accompanied  by  a  very  charming 
and  instructive  letter,  dated,  "  Washington,  19  Feb., 
1839,"  commencing  : — "  I  return  herewith  your 
tragedy  of  Hamlet^  with  many  thanks  for  the  peru- 
sal of  your  manuscript  notes,  which  indicate  how 
thoroughly  you  have  delved  into  the  bottomless 
mine  of  Shakespeare's  genius.  I  well  remember 
the  conversation,  more  than  seven  years  by-gone,  at 
Mr.  Philip  Hone's  hospitable  table,  where  at  the 
casual  introduction  of  Hamlet  the  Dane,  my  enthusi- 
astic admiration  of  the  inspired  (Muse-inspired) 
Bard  of  Avon,  commenced  in  childhood,  before  the 
down  had  darkened  my  lip,  and  continued  through 
five  of  the  seven  ages  of  the  drama  of  life,  gaining 
upon  the  judgment  as  it  loses  to  the  imagination, 
seduced  me  to  expatiate  at  a  most  intellectual  and 
lovely  convivial  board,  upon  my  views  of  the 
character  of  Hamlet^  until  I  came  away  ashamed 
of  having  engrossed  an  undue  proportion  of  the  con- 
versation to  myself.  I  look  upon  the  tragedy  of 
Hamlet  as  the  master-piece  of  Shakespeare — I  had 
almost  said  the  master-piece  of  the  human  mind. 
But  I  have  never  committed  to  writing  the  analysis 
of  the  considerations  upon  which  this  deliberate 
judgment  has  been  formed.  At  the  table  of  Mr. 
Hone  I  could  give  nothing  but  outlines  and  etchings. 
I  can  give  no  more  now — snatching,  as  I  do  from 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  65 

the  morning  lamp  to  commnne  with  a  lover  and 
worthy  representative  of  Shakespeare  npon  tlie 
glories  of  tlie  immortal  bard." 

In  reference  to  Mr.  Adams'  "  morning  lamj) "  of 
February)^  it  should  be  observed  that,  at  his  date, 
it  was  his  custom  to  rise  at  four  o'clock,  in  order  to 
dispatch  all  his  private  affairs,  that  they  miglit  not 
interfere  with  his  duties  of  the  day  in  the  House  of 
Representatives,  where  he  sat  as  a  member  from 
Massachusetts.  As  Mr.  Adams  complimentarily 
calls  me  "  a  lover  and  worthy  representative  of 
Shakespeare,"  I  ought,  in  justice  to  his  judgment,  to 
observe  also,  that  he  had  reference  particularly  to 
my  Falstaff  of  King  Henry  IV.  and  in  The  Merry 
'Wives  of  Windsor  j  because,  before  loaning  him 
my  notes  upon  Hamlet  for  his  perusal,  I  had  men- 
tioned that,  "  I  had  never  acted^  nor  had  thought  of 
acting  that  character ;  and  for  the  reason  that,  I 
should  probably,  owing  to  the  comic  department  of 
the  Drama  which  I  professed,  be  either  neglected  or 
laughed  at  by  the  puUic,  for  any  attempt  to  emljody 
my  own  conception  in  my  own  person ;  and  had, 
therefore,  not  only  noted  my  own  peculiar  under- 
standing of  various  texts.,  but  had  elaborately  de- 
scrihed  how  I  thought  my  particular  views  might  be 
illustrated  and  made  jpercejptible  upon  the  stage  by  a 
good  actor  of  Hamlet. ^"^ 

Mr.  Adams'  letter  continues — ""What  is  tragedy  ?" 
— of  which  he  wrote  a  classical  analysis  as  a  pre- 
face, and  then  a  concise  one  which  lie  calls — "  a 


66  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

liasty  outline  of  his  own  view  of  the  character  of 
Hamlet  y"  and  conchides  his  four  autographic  pages 
of  letter-sheet,  closely  w^ritten,  with — 

"  I  regret  that  time  w411  not  allow  nie  to  fill  the 
canvas  with  lights  ^nd  shades  borrowed  from  the 
incidents  and  dialogues  of  the  play.  Eut  after  be- 
stowing so  much  of  my  own  tediousness  upon  you, 
I  can  only  repeat  my  thanks  for  the  perusal  of  your 
own  very  ingenious  comments  upon  this  incompara- 
ble tragedy,  and  add  the  assurance  of  my  best 
wishes  for  your  health  and  happiness,  and  of  my 
cordial  sympathies  with  your  devotion  to  the 
memory  of  the  immortal  bard." 

(Signed)  John  QumcY  Adams. 

See  this  ejjyistle  in  full  ^  on  a  subsequent  ^age. 

Though  I  considered  Mr.  Adams'  personal  com- 
pliments to  emanate  more  from  his  benevolence  and 
acquaintanceship  with  me  than  from  his  unbiassed 
judgment  of  my  pretensions,  yet,  if  an  earnest 
desire  from  my  youth  to  become  familiar  with 
Shakespeare's  dramas — beginning  at  twelve  years 
of  age  with  Macbeth^  which  inspired  me  to  peruse 
the  others,  when  I  had  yet  never  seen  one  acted — if 
to  explore  the  vast  intellectual  magazine  which  the 
Bard  of  Avon  has  bequeathed  to  posterity — to  try 
to  penetrate  his  moral  and  dramatic  designs — dis- 
cover and  elucidate  even  a  few  of  the  many  poetic 
gems  which  he  has  set,  and  diffused  amid  his  copi- 
ous, and  admirable,  and  unequalled  diction — and  to 


HAMLET  S  SOLILOQUY  ON  SUICIDE.  67 

have  become  by  sncli  study  enamored,  and  ambi- 
tions of  performing  some  of  his  many  matchless 
characters  upon  the  stage  (for  which  all  were  ex- 
pressly designed),  and  overcoming  my  constitutional 
and  habitual  love  of  ease  and  my  aversion  to  close 
study  or  any  prolonged  physical  labor — to  have 
attained  to  be  or  have  been  accounted  by  the  puhlio 
gencvally  "  a  good  actor "  of  at  least  one  of  his 
greatest  characters — if,  I  repeat,  this  allowance  to 
me  of  such  particular  elements  may  constitute  and 
reflect  any  merit  or  claim  in  my  favor  for  even  a 
IMSsing  notice  in  this  wonder-working  age,  I  can't 
conscientiously  deny  that  I  am  not  insensible  to,  but 
grateful  for  its  public  acknowledgment,  expressed  or 
implied. 

When  the  first  letter  from  Mr.  Adams  (out  of 
which  I  have  quoted)  reached  my  hand  at  New 
York,  I  was  just  embarking  for  England,  whither  I 
carried  it  before  I  had  time  to  reply.  It  was 
esteemed  so  very  interesting  by  several  literary 
friends  of  mine  in  London,  and  became  so  eagerly 
and  frequently  sought,  for  the  purpose  of  being 
copied,  that  at  last,  to  rescue  it  from  further  mutila- 
tion, I  caused  it  to  be  lithographed  in  fac-siinile^ 
together  with  my  reply ^  and  a  few  hundred  of  such 
copies  presented  to  certain  friends  and  literary  insti- 
tutions there  ;  also,  I  sent  some  of  the  copies  of  that 
correspondence  to  several  friends  in  i^ew  York,  and 
prior  to  my  return  from  England  (March,  1840),  it 
had  been  obtained  by  the  Neio    Yorh  Mirror  (a 


68  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

weekly),  and  pnblislied,  without  regard  to  the  notice 
thereupon — "  lithograjyJied  far  private  distrihution 
onlyP  The  consequence  was,  Mr.  Adams'  letter 
and  my  reply  were  copied  extensively  by  news- 
papers throughout  the  United  States.  After  my 
return,  and  upon  visiting  Washington,  when  I  met 
Mr.  Adams,  I  mentioned  that  I  had  been  ver^^  much 
vexed  for  his  sake  when  I  heard  of  the  liberty  which 
had  been  taken  in  publishing  our  letters  in  my 
absence,  and  without  my  knowledge  or  his  consent, 
and  that  I  had  written  Mr.  Clay  soliciting  that  gen- 
tleman's explanation  of  the  facts  in  advance  of  my 
coming.  Mr.  Adams  laughed,  and  observed — "  I 
told  Mr.  Clay,  when,  at  your  instance,  he  referred 
to  the  circumstance  and  entered  your  disclaimer, 
that  it  not  only  did  not  offend — it  did  not  surprise 
me — I  expected  it  would  be  published  one  day  or 
other.  Indeed,  I  never  write  upon  any  subject,  the 
publication  of  which  at  some  time  or  other  is  unex- 
pected or  might  prove  disagreeable." 

Ml  passant^  Mr.  Adams  writes — "  I  look  upon  the 
tragedy  of  Hamlet  as  the  master-piece  of  the  drama 
— the  master-piece  of  Shakespeare — I  had  almost 
said  the  master-piece  of  the  human  mind."  That 
distinguished  litterateur,  the  present  Earl  of  CajrUsle^ 
whom,  as  "  Lord  Morpetli^^  I  was  accustomed  to 
meet  occasionally  when  he  visited  the  United  States 
about  1842-43,  and  to  whom  in  England,  in  1844, 1 
carried  a  special  letter  of  introduction  from  our 
eminent  statesman,  the  Hon.  Henry  Clay,  and  was 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  69 

tliere  entertained  bj  him,  and  subsequently  liave 
enjoyed  bis  corresjpondence^  in  one  of  his  letters, 
referring  to  that  point,  observes — ''I  sec  none  of 
your  criticisms  are  addressed  to  the  play  of  Mac- 
Idh :  in  my  mind  the  very  highest,  in  order,  of  all 
the  few  which  seem  to  me  indisputably  higher  than 
all  the  rest — Macbeth^  Hamlet^  Othello^  Lear. 
When  I  say  this,  however,  I  never  could  quarrel 
with  a  pei*son  who  puts  Hamlet  even  above  Mac- 
hethr — 8ee  letter^  on  a  sitbsequent page. 

Horatio  Smith — the  hrother  of  my  witty  and 
familiar  London  acquaintance  at  the  Garrick  Club, 
James,  and  the  younger  of  those  two — (called  "  the 
handsomest  men  in  England,"  and  who  became 
renowned  for  their  surprising  imitations  of  the  dif- 
ferent styles  of  their  various  contemporary  poets,  in 
the  little  volume  entitled  "  Hejected  Addresses,''^ 
which  required  some  tioenty  editions  to  satisfy  the 
demand  of  the  reading  world),  in  a  letter  to  me, 
dated  at  Brighton,  where  he  resided,  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  Harnl-et^  coincides  with  Mr.  Adams  in  the 
rank  he  allowed  that  in  the  order  of  Shakespeare's 
plays  ;  and,  witli  characteristic  discernment,  refers 
to  Goethe\  practically-beautiful  comparison  of 
Haralet^s  character.  ("An  oak  tree  planted  in  a 
china  vase,  proper  only  to  receive  the  most  delicate 
flowers.  Tlie  roots  strike  out,  and  the  vessel  flies  to 
pieces." — See  Wilhehn  Meister^s  Ajpprenticeship^  B. 
iv.  Ch.  13.) 

By  the  way,  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Adams  ever  heard 


70  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

our  gentle  and  amiable  friend,  and  universally 
admired  writer  and  revered  countryman,  Mr.  Wash- 
ington  Irving,  mention  what  in  his  latest  letter  to 
me,  he  remarked,  referring  to  his  many  singular 
and  particular  reminiscences  of  the  stage,  within 
the  current  century — "I  have  seen  the  Ballet  of 
Hamlet  gravely  danced  at  Yienna."  Had  3fr, 
Adams  happened  to  see  such  a  desecration,  when 
*'  a  looker  on  in  Yienna,"  it  would  have  recalled — 
if  it  did  not  realize  to  him — the  reflections  of  Ham- 
let in  the  grave-yard.  "  To  what  base  uses  we  may 
return,  Horatio.  Why  may  not  imagination  trace 
the  noble  dust  of  Alexander  till  he  find  it  stopping 
a  bung-hole  V' — because  then  and  there  w^as  one  of 
the  most  exquisite  poetic  gems,  ever  germinated  by 
dramatic  genius  in  the  brain  of  the  Intellectual 
Minerva  and  devoted  to  the  special  service  of  Mel- 
pomene, debased,  perverted,  and  sacrificed  to  sub- 
serve the  mazy  and  meretricious  '■'poetry  of  motion  /" 
a  province  peculiar  to  tlie  fantastic  Terpsichore. 

I  should  perhaps  in  this  connexion  note  that  the 
particular  letter  of  Mr.  Irving,  from  which  the  fore- 
going sentence  is  extracted,  is  dated  "I^ew  York, 
April  IT,  181:8 ;" — for  the  reason  that,  this  eminent 
author  had  done  me  the  favor  to  open  a  correspond- 
ence with  me,  "  Jan.  3,  1837,"  in  special  reference 
to  his  "  Kniclcerhoclt^r'^ s  History  of  J^eio  Yor'k,^'' 
when  I,  in  a  private  and  friendly  way,  had  sought 
his  opinion  of  its  susceptibility  of  dramatic  effect. 
In  18tl:7  I  had  mentioned  to  Mr.  Irving  socially  and 


hamlet's  soliloquy  ox  suicide.  71 

incidentally,  that  I  had  been  in  the  practice  of 
carefully  noting  and  recording  in  a  manuscript  vo- 
lume kept  for  that  special  pui'pose,  the  performance 
and  apparent  conception  of  every  actor  of  distinc- 
tion whom  I  had  seen  in  the  character  of  Hartilet^ 
both  in  our  country  and  in  England,  from  1816  to 
184:5  ;  which  our  venerable  friend  Mr.  Adams  had 
borrowed  for  perusal,  and,  when  returning  it,  had 
written  me  anotJier  and  particularly  interesting  and 
instructive  letter ;  first  thanking  me  for  what  he  had 
the  indulgence  to  call  ''Hhe  ^privilege  of  perusing" 
such  notes,  and  then,  "  asking  my  acceptance  of  a 
few  scattered  leaves,  containing  his  own  remarks 
upon  Othello^  Romeo  and  Juliet^  and  Lear^  which 
had  been  originally  written  to  a  friend  who  thought 
them  worthy  oi  ijiibliGation  with  his  consent,  &c.," 
and  at  same  time  communicating  to  me  in  that 
letter,  his  own  first  impressions  of  the  London^  and 
the  eiiect  of  an  incident  he  witnessed  on  the  Paris 
stage,  in  the  time  of  Louis  XYlth. 

Mr.  Irving,  too,  complimented  me  by  soliciting  my 
^^  J^otes  upon  the  Actors  of  HamleV^  for  perusal.  I 
sent  him  the  volume  during  the  autumn  of  1847,  and 
he  did  not  return  it  until  the  following  spring, 
(April  17,)  when  he  premised  in  his  letter — 

"  I  have  detained  your  manuscript  notes  an 
unconscionable  time,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  I 
wished  to  read  them  attentively,  for  they  are 
remarkably  suggestive,  and  not  to  be  read  in  a 
hurry,"  &c.,  &c. — See  letter^  on  a  siibsequent  jpage. 


72  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

Upon  exaniiiiiiig  tliercaftcr  my  returned  manu- 
script, I  discovered  that,  as  another  eminent  literary- 
friend,  Mr.  James  Fenimore  Cooper,  had  done,  Mr. 
Irving,  when  struck  by  my  graphic  record  of  the 
personal  peculiarities  of  some  well-remembered 
Actor,  had  stopped  occasionally,  and  upon  the  mar- 
gin, favored  me,  by  adding  his  own  autographic 
annotations,  in  "  lead-pencillings  by  the  way." 

About  the  middle  of  October,  1841,  the  late 
Edmund  Simpson,  then  Manager  of  the  Park  theatre, 
jSTew  York,  referring  to  the  prevailing  interest  taken 
by  the  play-going  community  in  my  novel  conceits, 
as  manifested  respecting  the  character  of  Hamlet  in 
my  then  recently  transpired  correspondence  with 
the  Hon.  John  Quincy  Adams,  and  which  being 
transcribed  and  published  throughout  the  land,  was 
attracting  great  attention  from  critical  admirers  of 
Sliakespeare,  suggested,  urged,  and  finally  per- 
suaded me  to  impersonate  my  own  conception  and 
as  soon  as  six  days  thereafter^  when  my  benefit  was 
appointed,  assuring  me  that  "  my  performance  under 
the  circumstances  could  not  fail  to  attract  greatly." 
The  celebrated  singer  Mrs.  Wood  (ci-devant  Miss 
Paton,  the  renowned  prima  donna  of  Covent  Garden 
and  Drury  Lane,  London)  then  an  immense  favorite 
at  Kew  York,  as  an  inducement  and  encouragement 
to  me,  generously  voluiiteered  to  act  Oj)h£lia^  a  part 
she  had  repeatedly  played  when  Edmund  Kean 
acted  Hamlet  at  Drury  Lane. 

So  far  as  Shakespeara's  text  went,  I  felt  sure  I 


hAxMlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  73 

could  become  perfect  in  it;  but,  when  I  reflected 
that  having  never  before  thought  of  acting  Hamlet, 
there  was  no  time  to  acquire  by  practice,  which 
alone  makes  perfect  on  the  stage,  the  requisite  ease 
of  a  gentleman,  the  dignity  of  a  prince,  appropriate 
action  and  flexibility  of  voice,  in  order  to  give  pro- 
per variety  to  the  vehement  passions,  weight  to  the 
declamatory  and  poignancy  to  the  spirited  and  sati- 
rical portions ;  I  became  frightfully  nervous  at  the 
responsibility  I  had  undertaken,  and  was  vexed  with 
my  own  want  of  forethought  and  circumsj)ection. 
For 

"  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread." 

It  is  true  that  I  had  within  a  month  or  two  pre- 
viously been  performing  King  Lear  (some  dozen 
times  in  Philadelphia  and  ]N"ew  York)  and  had 
acquired  a  certain  confidence  in  the  power  and  com- 
pass of  my  voice,  and  in  the  accompaniment  of  natu- 
ral and  expressive  action  and  attitude  in  the  2^(^^- 
si.onate  scenes ;  but  then  the  physical  training  for 
Lear  included  little  or  nothing  towards  the  adaption 
of  my  person  for  representing  Hamlet : — 

"  Our  strange  garments  cleave  not  to  their  mould, 
But  with  the  aid  of  wse," 

Consequently  I  passed  six  days  of  continuous  ner- 
vous excitement,  which  made  my  system  restless  at 
night  and  my  faculties  sleepless  the  greater  portion 
of  each,  and  until  that  of  my  performance,  when  in 

1 


74  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

tlic  presence  of  my  audience,  I  endured  too  a  con- 
stant and  violent  palpitation  of  the  lieart.  JSTever- 
tlieless  I  said  I  would  go  on  for  Hainlet — 

"  What !  a  soldier,  and  afeard  ?" 

and  I  felt  ashamed  afterward  to  say,  "  I  am  afraid  !" 
John  Kemble,  the  greatest  Hcmilet  of  his  day,  is 
reported  to  have  declared  that  he  studied  Hamlet 
seven  years  before  he  acted  it ;  and,  though  he 
had  then  played  it  more  than  thirty  years,  every 
time  lie  rejpeated  it^  something  neio  iii  it  struck  Tiim. 
I  remembered  that  I  felt  alarmed  for  my  own 
temerity,  but  was  resolved  to  do  my  best  at  such 
short  notice  of  requirement,  and  deprecate  public 
exactness.  I  headed  the  play-bill  of  the  day  with  a 
short  apology  for  my  attempt  to  impersonate  Ham- 
let, because,  though  my  sock  was  not,  my  buskin 
was  new,  and  my  habitual  study  of  characters  had 
been  very  systematic  and  conscientious.  At  that 
time,  I  was  unsophisticated  enough  to  presume  that 
every  one  who  might  go  to  see  me  act  Hamlet  would 
be  a  competent  critic,  and,  that  such  at  least  as  had 
curiosity  excited  by  reading  my  letter  to  Mr.  Adams, 
would  expect  of  me  some  good  acting,  as  well  as 
novelty,  nicety,  and  undeniable  correctness  of  per- 
ception of  the  poet,  p]iiloso])her,  and  dramatist,  to 
whose  tragedies  I  generally  had  riveted  my  most 
serious  attention,  and  whose  Hamlet  especially, 
though  I  had  analysed  it,  I  now  approached  a  repre- 
sentation of  with  a  profound  awe  and  reverence, 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  75 

and  particularly  with  apprelicusion  before  that 
maiij-headed  monster,  the  jpicbUc^  whom  I  then 
dreaded.  To  do  justice  on  the  stage  to  my  own 
conception  in  my  closet,  it  was  indispensably  neces- 
sary that  I  should  revise  it  minutely,  dissect  the  com- 
ponent parts  of  the  character,  and  where  the  text 
seemed  unintelligible  or  ambiguous,  and  might  have 
been  corrupted  by  an  editor  or  printer  of  the  folio 
of  1623,  to  collate  the  various  editions  since,  and,  if 
a  sentence  then  did  not  clearly  indicate  to  me  a  con- 
sistent signification,  to  find  a  recourse  in  the  poet 
Koscommon's  suggestion — 

"  When  tilings  appear  unnatural  and  hard, 
Consult  your  author  with  himself  compar'd." 

To  avail  myself  of  which,  it  was  necessary  to  take 
each  imjportant  wmxl  in  the  sentence,  search  every 
line  in  each  of  Shakespeare's  plays  where  such  word 
was  incorporated,  for  the  reason  that  the  same 
author  would  seldom  be  found  to  use  the  same  loorcl 
in  very  different  senses,  and  try  to  detect  a  concord- 
ance of  sentiment  in  some  one  of  that  word's  various 
connexions,  settle  fully  w^ith  myself  every  verbal 
meaning  and  special  point,  as  well  as  contexts  hav- 
ing a  general  bearing  upon  the  character ;  all  which 
seemed  to  me  necessary,  prior  to  re-uniting  the  dis- 
sected articles  or  resolved  particles  into  a  compen- 
dious, and  harmonious,  and  completely-compounded 
concej^tion^  for  the  actor  to  Ijeijin  his  own  peculiar 


76  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

art  with  reference  thereto  : "  then^  in  regular  course 
of  study,  has  arrived  the  time  for  an  artist  to  apply 
his  rhetorical  powers  to  the  elucidation  of  his  con- 
ception, and  ascertain,  to  his  own  satisfaction  at 
least,  by  untiring  practice  in  his  chamher^  how  far 
nature  has  qualified  him  or  denied  him  the  requi- 
sites for  2^]jerfect  personation  of  his  ow^n  ideal,  in 
order  to  make  the  most  of  any  natural  fitness,  and 
by  art  to  overcome  any  physical  drawbacks.  Such 
I  considered  for  Hamlet  requisite  in  advance  of  any 
^{iigQ-rehea7'sal ;  and  then,  very  essential  to  the 
effects  before  an  audience^  that  such  rehear  sals 
should  be  carefully  conducted,  and  frequent  enough 
to  assure  the  actor  of  his  own  ease,  and  that  the 
others  who  should  support  him,  might  thoroughly 
understand  his  intentions  or  objects,  and  not, 
thi'ough  ignorance,  defeat  them  at  night.  It  is  a 
mistake  to  imagine  that  even  a  soliloquy  can  be  per- 
fectly studied  and  delivered  without  practice  on  the 
STAGE ;  where  only,  conld  I  ever  acquire  the  neces- 
sary abstraction  and  the  faculty  of  identifying 
myself  wdth  my  character  assumed,  as  also  the  pro- 
per regulation  of  my  voice,  and  of  the  action  suita- 
ble to  a  passion  according  to  situation.  These 
reflections,  after  my  hasty  consent  to  undertake  a 
performance  of  Hamlet  wdth  only  six  days  of  prepa- 
ration, a  novice  too  in  the  tragic  department  of  the 


*  Refer  here  to  my  noted  opinion  of  the  habitual  difference  in  this 
respect  (study)  between  Kean  and  Moxreachj,  1844. 


h^vmlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  77 

art,  and  the  responsibility,  I  began  to  realize  were 
the  cause  of  that  ajpologij  npon  the  play-bill,  of 
which  the  folio  win  2:  is  an  extract : — 

PAEK  THEATEE. 

Mk.  Hackett's  Benefit, 

on  "which  occasion  the  Distinguished  Favorite 

Mrs.  Wood 

has^  in  the  Tcindest  inanner^  tendered  her  aid^  as 

OPHELIA. 

With  the  Original  Music. 

Mk.  Barry 

has  Tcindly  volunteered  his  services j  and  will  also 

appear. 


Mr.  Hackett  respectfully  informs  his  friends  and 
the  public  that,  encouraged  by  the  gratifying 
approbation  bestowed  upon  each  of  his  persona- 
tions of  King  Lear.,  he  will  attempt,  for  the  first 
time,  to  embody  his  own  conception  of  Shake- 
speare's Hamlet^  Prince  of  DenntarJc,  well  assured 
that  in  his  native  city  he  can  depend  upon  every 
reasonable  allowance  for  such  deficiency  of  mecha- 
nical manner  as  can  be  supplied  only  by  longer 
and  more  frequent  practice  in  the  loftier  depart- 
ments of  the  Drama,  than  he  has  yet  had  opportu- 
nity to  acquire. 


78  hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide. 

Wednesday  Evening,  Oct.  21,  1840. 
HAMLET. 

Ha^ilet  (for  the  first  time  on  any 

stage), Mr.  Hackett. 

Ghost  of  Haimlet's  Eathek,      .  Mr.  Barry. 
Ophelia  (for  tlie  first  time  in  this 

country), Mrs.  Wood. 

CLAucros,  King  of  Denmark,    .  3fr.  Gann. 

HoKATio, Mr.  Hield. 

Laertes, Mr.  Wheatly. 

PoLONirs, Mr.  CMj^pendale. 

OsEicK, Mr.  Fisher. 

Geeteude,  Queen  of  Denmark,  .  Mrs,  Barry, 

To  which  will  he  added  the  Ludicrous  Scene  of 

A  MILITIA  TEAMING. 

Hateful  W.  Paekins  (an  Inde- 
pendent Disorderly),    ....     31r.  Niclcinsoii. 
The  Yankee  Majoe,       ....     Mr.  JlacJcett. 
The  Militia,  by  an  awhioard  squad. 

The  Entertainmerd  to  Conclude  with  the  First  Act  of 

THE   KENTUCKIAlSr. 
Col.  Nevieod  Wildfiee,     ....     3fr.  HachetL 

The  theatre  was  full,  and  I  was  warmly  greeted 
on  appearance — all  my  soliloquies  were  surprisingly 


hamlet's  soliloquy  on  suicide.  79 

well  received,  and  more  or  less  interrupted  by 
applause  in  their  course  of  delivery — my  scenes 
generally  were  marked  either  by  mute  applause  or 
eloquent  approbation,  whilst  my  impassioned  utter- 
ance of  Hamlet's  ^^Z/'-condemnation  after  witnessing 
what  the  ])laycr  could  do  "  in  a  dream  of  passion," 
was  applauded  to  the  echo,  which,  after  I  had  left 
the  stage,  called  me  back  to  acknowledge  the  com- 
pliment of  my  audience ;  also,  the  earnestness 
which  I  manifested  in  the  course  of  Hamlet's  con- 
trivance to  detect  the  "  occulted  guilt,"  and  the 
happy  attitude  which  I  happened  to  strike,  as  the 
usurper,  at  its  climax,  rushed  away  conscience- 
stricken,  were  honored  by  such  loud  vociferation 
and  thunders  of  applause  as  required  a  long  sus- 
pension of  the  progressive  scene.  Such  portions  of 
the  play  and  certain  points  in  the  closet-scene  (after 
which  I  was  again  called  before  the  curtain),  proved 
the  most  effective  of  any  which  I  attempted  to 
mark. 

In  my  youth  I  had  read  the  work  called  Wilhel- 
meister'^s  Ajpiyrenticesliij^^  and  been  struck  with  and 
remembered  Goethe! s  idea  of  causing,  in  represen- 
tation, Hamlet's  description  and  comparison  of  his 
father's  and  his  uncle's  respective  persons  to  be 
painted  as  full  length  portraits,  and  suspended  in 
the  Queen's  closet,  and,  with  the  aid  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Barry  (a  most  capital  stage-director  as  well  as  good 
and  sound  actor),  I  determined  to  try  such  an  effect 
on  the  occasion.     Mr.  Barry,  who  acted  the  GJiost^ 


80  HAMLET. 

consented  to  change  the  costume  {armoicr)  worn 
when  it  was  seen  upon  the  plaifonn^  and  which,  as 
it  would  seem,  was  designed  to  suggest  surprise  and 
increase  Hamlet's  wonder — ("  My  father's  spirit — 
in  av'ins !  all  is  not  well !  ") — and  to  adopt  one 
similar  to  tlmt  worn  by  "  My  father  in  his  hahit  as 
he  lived^''  ?a\^  painted  for  the  portrait.  The  canvas 
was  so  constructed — by  Mr.  Barry's  direction — and 
split,  but  backed  with  a  spring  made  from  whale- 
bone, which  rendered  its  practicability  unperceived 
by  the  audience,  that  it  enabled  him  at  the  proj^er 
juncture,  as  the  ghost  behind,  to  step  apparently 
out  of  it  upon  the  stage ;  the  rent  through  wliich 
the  figure  had  passed  was  closed  up  again,  and  the 
canvas,  with  a  light  behind  it,  then  looked  hlanh 
and  illuminated ;  but,  the  instant  after  the  departure 
of  the  sj)irit  from  sight  of  the  audience,  the  light 
was  removed,  and  the  painting  appeared  as  before. 
The  whole  effect  proved  wonderful  and  surprising, 
and  was  vehemently  applauded.  The  audience,  at 
the  close  of  the  tragedy,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
called  me  once  more  before  the  curtain,  and  I 
thanked  them  cordially  for  their  manifestations  of 
satisfaction ;  though,  in  my  heart,  I  attributed  their 
apparent  enthusiasm  more  to  their  own  perception 
of  what  I  was  earnestly  trying  to  do  than  to  my 
own  accomplishments  upon  the  stage  ;  for  I  was 
anything  but  5<?Z/'-satisfied  with  my  performance.  I 
knew — what  they  did  not,  or  were  too  kind  to  seem 
to  perceive — my  deficiency  in  that  ease  and  smooth- 


HAMLET.  81 

ness  wliicli  is  only  acquirable  by  mucli  practice. 
Next  day,  however,  I  was  warmly  congratulated  by 
numerous  personal  friends,  and  received,  through 
the  Box-office  of  the  Park  Theatre,  some  verses  in 
a  female  hand,  signed  "  Mbiei^a^''  so  complimen- 
tary that  I  suspected  them  as  designed  for  a  prac- 
tical cjxiiz.  Such  causes  might,  and  perhaps  ougld^ 
to  have  stimulated  me  to  exert  myself  and  make  a 
complete  study  of  the  art  necessary  to  act,  to  my 
own  satisfaction,  my  conceptimi  of  Hamlet^  as  I  had 
been,  eight  years  previous,  to  undertake  that  of  the 
Fahtaf  of  King  Hciiry  IV.,  after  I  had  so  far  suc- 
ceeded as  to  be  tolerated  by  an  audience  in  my  first 
and  very  crude  attempt  to  personate  that  character; 
but  I  lacked  an  equally  strong  motive  for  Hamlet 
that  I  had  had  to  elaborate  my  performance  of 
Falstaff.  My  first  representation  of  the  Falstaff  of 
Henry  I Y.  attracted  only  a  moderate  audience — not 
equal  to  the  Manager's  expenses — whilst  my  local 
characters,  for  which  I  was  then  and  oidy  famed, 
produced  more  than  double  to  the  theatre's  treasury. 
The  Press — such  as  noticed  my  delut  at  all — con- 
demned not  only  my  acting,  but  my  concejption 
and  even  my  readings  of  the  text,  and  denied  me 
both  the  mind  to  grasp,  and  the  physical  elements 
(for  training)  to  represent  the  character  of  Falstaff 
respectably.  Of  my  natural  qualifications  or  im- 
pediments for  a  "  respectable"  ^performance  I  could 
not  judge,  but,  considering  that  I  had  on  my  first 
night  succeeded  in  keeping  my  audience  in  good 


82  HAMLET. 

liumor  tliroiigliont,  I  was  determined  to  persevere, 
and  endeavor  to  make  mj  toleration  a  sort  of  enter- 
ing-wedge  with  public  opinion,  for  riving  and  pros- 
trating wliat  I  looked  upon  as  a  traditionary  and 
time-honored  but  erroneous  conventionalism^  and  for 
introducing  and  establishing  instead,  if  not  a  better, 
at  least  an  original  conception  of  that  masterly 
compound  of  wit  and  philosophy  with  vice  and 
sensuality.  Therefore,  when  the  Manager  inquired 
of  me  (his  Star)  what  I  would  "  act  the  next  night" 
(I  was  playing  alternately  with  another  Star),  I 
rejilied — 'Til  re'peat  Falstaff P^  "Any  of  your 
other  characters  would  draw  hetter  P''  observed  he, 
and  left  me  evidently  vexed.  The  second  night  the 
receijyts  improved  upon  the  first  a  little,  but  still 
were  under  the  expenses^  though  the  audience 
seemed  more  attentive  and  liberal  of  applause  at 
certain  points.  The  next  day,  however,  when  the 
Manager  feared  1  might  persist  in  again  repeating 
Falstaff^  he  prevailed  upon  a  certain  newspaper 
editor  with  whom  he  was  intimate  and  I  esteemed 
*'  a  friend"  of  mine,  to  be  at  the  Box  Office  when  I 
should  come  there  (as  usual  about  10  o'clock  a.m.), 
and  to  suggest  the  inexpediency  of  my  persistence  in 
any  further  repetition  at  present  of  Falstaff.  The 
gentleman  (and  he  was  a  benevolent  one,  and  often 
good-hum oredly  afterwards  alluded  to  the  conversa- 
tion) intimated  that  "  though  the  public  acknow- 
ledged me  to  possess  wonderful  powers  of  imitation^ 
precedent  had  proved  that  no  great  imitator  had 


HAMLET.  83 

ever  become  even  a  cjood  original  actor."  I  asked 
liim  if  lie  was  familiar  with  David  Garrick's  hegin- 
ning^  as  well  as  liis  establisliment  of  himself  as  a 
great  actor  ?  and  if  he  was  aware  that  he  started  by 
playing  characters  "  after  the  ino/nner  of  a  Mr. 
SmitN^ — then  a  great  favorite  in  London — and  that 
he  did  not  discontinue  his  imitation  until  he  had 
secured  the  notice  of  the  town,  and  extracted  their 
acknowledgment  of  his  (Garrick's)  original  abilities. 
"  Well  !"  added  my  expostulator,  "  our  public  have 
been  accustomed,  since  you  adopted  the  stage  a  few 
years  ago,  to  see  you  only  in  imitat/ions  of  Kean,* 
and  Macready,  and  Barnes,  and  Hilson,  and  per- 
form a  Yankee  {Solomon  Swop),  and  a  Dutchman 
{liij)  Van  Winkle),  or  a  Kentuckian  {Kimrod 
Wildfire),  and  a  Frenchman  {lionsieur  Morhleit), 
which  are  (what  are  technically  called)  '  character- 
parts  ;'  but  you  cannot  persuade  them  now — if  ever 
— that  you  are  able  to  play  Fai^staff."  Such  dis- 
paragement of  my  ability  aroused  my  indignation, 
and  I  observed  with  some  warmth — "  Look   you  ! 

Mr. ,  the  Manager  has  instigated  you  to  put  mo 

out  of  conceit  of  myself  in  this  part,  in  order  that  I 
may  fall  back — as  he  prefers — upon  my  local  and 
hackneyed  characters  to-morrow  night,  and  which 
he  thinks  would  be  more  attractive.  I  will  play 
nothing  hut  Falstoff  again  to-onorro^o  night !  With 
reference  to  your  prediction,  that  I  may  '  never  be 

*  In  1826,  in  my  novitiate,  I  acted  Richard  III.  in  imitation  of 
Kean  repeatedly  at  New  York,  and  in  London  in  1827,  with  applausa 


84  HAMLET. 

able,'  I  say,  and  mark  you  my  words,  lohen  I  have 
Lad  a  reasonable  time  by  stage-practice — say  tliree 
years — to  ripen  my  acting  and  become  mellowed  in 
the  part  like  a  second-nature,  if  then  I  can't  con- 
vince the  public  generally  that  I  can  act  it — not 
only  to  their  satisfaction  but  ^nore  so  than  will  any 
rival— I'll  forswear  my  adopted  profession,  and 
never  appear  again  upon  the  stage."  The  third  per- 
formance, however,  proved  an  agreeable  surprise  to 
the  Manager,  Mr.  Simpson,  who  played  the  Prince, 
of  Wales.  When  he  and  myself  in  our  respective 
characters  met  at  "  Gadshill,"  and  unavoidably 
noticed  the  croivd  in  the  pit  and  boxes,  I  muttered 
to  him  in  an  undertone,  "  Which  of  us  was  right 
about  to-night's  bill?"  He  very  pleasantly  whis- 
pered back — "  You  !  you  understand  the  monster 
better  than  I  this  time  !"  Often  as  I  repeated  the 
part  after  that,  during  a  series  of  years,  I  seldom  if 
ever  acted  it  to  less  than  expenses  anywhere. 

But  times  and  circumstances  (which  alter  cases) 
were  different  when  I  first  appeared  as  Hamlet,  In 
1832  I  was  comparatively  young  as  an  actor,  and 
ambitious^  and  my  energies  were  aroused  to  coml)at 
prejudice  and  opposition,  and  to  acquire  fame  and  a 
moderate  independence  ;  besides  supporting  my 
family  and  educating  three  sons,  who,  after  my 
bankruptcy  as  a  merchant  of  ISTew  York,  had  no 
resources  or  expectations  other  than  what  miglit  be 
obtained  through  my  own  exertions.  In  1840,  I 
had  acquired  an  extensive  credit  for  Protean  ability 


HAMLET.  85 

and  a  surfeit  of  tlicatric  honors^  which  no  longer 
fired  my  ambition.  Tlie  country  had  not  yet  reco- 
vered from  the  eflects  of  the  monetary  revulsion  of 
1837,  and  theatricals  generally  were  at  a  very  low 
ebb,  and  tragedy  especially  neglected.  I  had  begun 
to  consider  the  expediency  of  then  loithdrawing 
myself  from — as  I  had  in  1826  of  adopting — the 
stage,  and  of  returning  and  resuming  some  branch 
of  mercantile  business  after  that  season  ;  and  also, 
only  how  to  make  the  acting  of  my  most  popular  of 
established  parts  most  available  to  my  purse.  I 
reflected  upon  the  years  of  practice  I  had  devoted 
to  Falstaff^  before  I  could  make  it  tolerable  in  my 
own  or  quite  acceptable  in  general  opinion,  and  I 
apprehended  a  greater  and  a  longer  task  to  obtain 
the  like  for  Hamlet^  together  with  a  difliculty  of 
inspiring  in  advance  various  and  unfamiliar  audi- 
ences (throughout  the  lands  where  I  might  wander 
as  a  star)  with  confidence  in  a  candidate  for  their 
tragic  instruction  and  delight,  who  had  never  before 
been  heard  of  by  them  but  as  an  "  irregular  come- 
dian," and  in  order  to  command  an  attendance  of 
numbers  equal  to  those  attracted  by  my  local  parts. 
The  occasion  of  my  debut  in  Hamlet  being  for  my 
"  benefit  and  last  night  of  engagement"  for  some 
time  in  New  York  (owing  to  an  interval  of  some 
months  to  be  occupied  with  other  stars  engaged  at 
the  Park),  precluded  me  from  iinraedlately  following 
up  my  comparative  success,  by  frequent  repetitions 
of  Hamlet  upon  the  stage  where  I  had  obtained  it, 


86  HAMLET. 

and  of  striking  the  public-iron  whilst  hot,  and  clench- 
ing as  well  as  diffusing  and  circulating  throughout 
the  community  any  strong  impression  I  had  made 
in  that  part. 

ISTot  many  weeks  prior  to  my  first  a]3pearance  in 
Hamlet  at  New  York,  I  had  been  persuaded  to  per- 
form King  Lear  at  Philadelphia,  by  Mr.  Manager 
Burton  (1840),  with  new  scenic  appointments  which 
he  got  up  with  care  and  liberality.  It  filled  his 
theatre  for  a  weelc^  and  gave  me  a  strong  foothold 
for  tragic  promise  in  that  city ;  whereupon  the  ITew 
York  Park  theatre  had  imitated  Burton's  example, 
and  incurred  considerable  expense  forthwith  to  get 
up  Lear  for  me.  I  played  it  three  nights  with  great 
applause  from  the  audience  and  unprecedented 
commendation  from  the  press  ;  but  it  did  not  attract 
expenses  either  nighty  and  I  then  refused  ever  to  jplay 
it  at  the  Parle  again,  and  have  kept  my  word  j  but 
the  town  did  not  go  into  mourning.  That  w^as  one 
reason  I  had  urged  against  the  policy  of  trying  to 
act  Hamlet,  but  which  Manager  Simpson  overcame, 
by  his  assurance  of  a  peculiar  prestige,  viz. :  "  the 
popularity  of  my  conception  as  evolved  in  my 
widely-circulated  correspondence  with  Mr.  Adams, 
and  also  by  reason  of  the  play's  more  general 
favoritism,  and  consequently  greater  attraction  of 
the  masses  towards  the  character  of  Hamlet  than 
that  of  Lear^^  a  fact  which  he  intimated  could  be 
proved  by  reference  to  the  latter's  smaller  treasury- 
receipts  of  the  theatre,  and  the  comparatively  few 


HAMLET.  87 

rej^etitions  King  Lear  would  bear,  even  when  repre- 
sented bj  sucli  famous  actors  as  George  Frederick 
Cooke  and  Edmund  Kean. 

Nevertheless,  I  allowed  my  own  first  and  favora- 
ble impression  and  upon  a  single  audience  as  Ham- 
let^ to  fade  out  of  its  memory  by  neglect  and  delay ; 
whereas,  by  immediate  and  frequent  repetition  I 
should  have  endeavored  to  "  bite  it  in,"  as  engra- 
vers do  thei7'  work,  with  aquafortis^  and  have  tried  to 
thoroughly  establish  it :  hence,  my  glory  in  it  was 
transient,  and  with  the  occasion  the  achievement 
soon  passed  away  from  my  own  mind.  My  habitual 
love  of  ease,  aversion  to  extraordinaiy  physical  or 
mental  exertion,  together  with  a  consciousness  and 
dread  of  painful  effects  upon  my  sensitive  nervous 
system,  and,  from  its  ready  excitability,  how  much 
and  how  often  it  would  surely  be  wrought  upon  by 
my  efforts  to  push  on  to  fame  as  an  actor  of  Hamlet^ 

''  Some  craven  scruple 
Of  thinking  too  precisely  on  the  event, 
A  thought,  which,  quartered  hath  but  one  part  wisdom. 
And  ever  three  parts  cowardj'^ 

combined  to  discourage  my  ambition  in  such  pur- 
suit. I  resolved  rather  to  continue  to  act  easily  and 
quietly  and  with  moderate  profit,  my  former  though 
limited  number  of  jpapidar  parts,  than  to  embark  in 
a  struggle  at  that  time  against  popular  prejudice  or 
stage-precedent  of  an  acknowledged  comedian  try- 
ing to  make  his  Hamlet  attractive  and  add  that  to 
his  repertoire. 


88  HAMLET 

Not  long  after  I  liacl  thus  neglected  to  take  at 
"  young  Hood  "  the  indicated  tide  of  extended  poj)u- 
lar  favor,  for, — 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  afifairs  of  men, 
Whichj  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune ; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows  and  in  miseries," 

my  old  friend  William  E.  Burton,  the  manager  at 
Philadelphia,  sought  and  chid  me  for  "  keeping  the 
noiseless  tenor  of  my  way,"  and  especially  for  my 
impolitic  and  censurable  inertness  in  my  profession 
when  Fortune  had  opened  to  me  an  opportunity. 
Mr.  Burton  proposed,  and  I  accepted  an  engage- 
ment to  act  at  his  New  National  Theatre^  Philadel- 
phia^ in  the  March  following,  assuring  me  that  he 
could  do  with  that  public  what  was  necessary  to 
draw  its  attention  to  my  pretensions  which  he  pro- 
nounced "  extraordinary  and  constituted  unmistaka- 
bly good  material."  When  I  visited  Philadelphia, 
accordingly,  I  found  indeed  that  Mr.  Burton  had  not 
forgotten  his  managerial  designs  thus  intimated,  and 
that  Philadelphia  was  pretty  generally  placarded, 
and  all  his  playbills  headed  with  a  pulf-announce- 
ment  as  follows : — 

New  National  Theatre, 

W.  E.  BuETON, Sole  Proprietor. 

P.  PicniNGS, Stage  Manager. 

It^^TuE  Manager  takes  pride  in  respectfully 
soliciting  the   attention   of   the   American  Public 


HAMLET.  89 

generally,  to  the  following  rare  impersonations  of  a 
variety  of  Shakespeare's  heroes,  and  of  dissimilar 
American  Originals  (all  of  which  are  to  be  per- 
formed at  this  theatre  This  Week)  by  one  of  their 
own  distinguished  Native  actors,  viz. : 

MK.  HACKETT 

who  has  always  been  a  ])articular  favorite  in  Phila- 
delphia, and  is  now  universally  acknowledged  to 
combine  a  higher  degree  of  excellence  with  versa- 
tility than  has  been  recorded  in  the  annals  of  the 
Stage  of  any  individual  since  the  days  of  Garrick. 

Mr.  Hackett  will  appear 

Tuesday — as  Falstaff^  in  the  Merry  Wives  of  Wind- 
sor. 

Monday — as  King  Lear,  and  also  in  The  Kentuck- 
ian. 

Thursday — as  Falstcuff^  in  King  Henry  IV.  Part 
1st. 

Friday — as  Hamlet,  and  also  as  the  Yankee,  /Solo- 
mon Swop. 

Saturday — as  jRip  Van  WinJcle,  and  Horse  Shoe 
Robinson. 

Monday — as  Falstaff,  in  The  Second  Part  of  King 
Henry  IV. 

Though  I  was  well  received  in  each  of  these  charac- 
ters by  the  notoriously  cold  and  reserved  audiences 
of  Philadelphia,  Mr.   Burton  did  not  succeed   in 


90  ^  HAMLET. 

making  my  j^erformanco  of  Hamlet  and  of  King 
Lear  nearly  as  attractive  as  most  of  my  comic  cha- 
racters proved,  and  without  vexation  or  regret  I 
struck  them  both  from  my  repertoire,  and  soon 
thereafter  studied  and  produced  Sir  Pertinax  Mac- 
Sycojphant  in  Macklin's  Man  of  the  World,  and  also 
C  Gallaglian^  in  Bernard's  farce  of  His  Last  Legs  ; 
in  both  which  parts  I  have  been  a  favorite  with 
every  public  in  either  hemisphere. 


PART  III. 

NOTES   UPON  KING  LEAR. 


GENIUS  AND  TASTE. 


"  Genius  all  sunbeams  where  he  throws  a  smile, 
Impregnates  Nature  faster  than  the  Nile ;  ^ 

Wild  and  impetuous,  high  as  Heaven  aspires, 
All  science  animates,  all  virtue  fires. 
Creates  ideal  worlds  and  there  convenes 
Aerial  forms  and  visionary  scenes. 
But  Tasie^  corrects  by  one  therial  touch, 
What  seems  too  little  and  what  seems  too  much ;    > 
Marks  the  fine  point,  where  each  consenting  part 
Slides  into  beauty  with  the  ease  of  art ; 
This  bids  to  rise,  and  That  with  grace  to  fall. 
And  rounds,  unites,  refines,  and  heightens  all." 

Cawthorn. 


NOTES  UPON  KING  LEAR. 


"  Ta]^e  pains  the  genuine  meaning  to  explore  ; 
There  sweat,  there  strain ;  tug  the  laborious  oar ; 
Search  every  comment  that  your  care  can  find ; 
Some  here,  some  there,  may  hit  the  poet's  mind : 
When  things  appear  unnatural  and  hard. 
Consult  your  author  with  himself  compar'd." 

Roscommon. 

King  Leak  is  not  a  popular  play  with  the  million ; 
because  the  young ^  who  constitute  the  great  majority 
of  play-goers,  are  too  inexperienced  to  comprehend 
the  dotage  of  the  aged  and  tender  father,  and  to 
sympathize  with  his  consequent  afflictions  ; — regard- 
ing Lear^  as  they  generally  do,  merely  as  an  old 
despot,  and  his  sorrows  and  sufferings  as  measurably 
deserved  by  his  own  folly  and  tyranny ;  nor  can 
youth  have  acquired  knowledge  enough  of  mankind 
to  detect  and  appreciate  Shakespeare's  exquisite  art 
and  profound  philosophy  in  the  drawing  of  Learns 
madness,  its  origin,  progress,  and  climax  ;  nor  his 
frightfully  faithful  portraiture  towards  the  fatal 
denouement  of  nature's  last  and  abortive  struggle 


94  NOTES   UPON   KING   LEAR. 

with  extreme  old  age  and  bodily  iniirmitj  to  restore 
JLear'^s  mental  balance,  and  to  re-establish  his  reason : 
therefore,  this  play  is  better  adapted  to  the  under- 
standing of  the  sage  and  philosopher,  and  the  mad 
scenes,  especially,  to  the  appreciation  of  experienced 
and  scientific  physicians,  who  have  been  accustomed 
professionally  to  witness  and  contemplate  the  subtle 
workings  of  tlie  maniac's  mind. 

"  The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man." — Pope. 

Coleridge,  in  his  Table  Talh^  says  : — ^^Lear  is  the 
most  tremendous  effort  of  Shakespeare  as  a  poet, 
Hamlet  as  a  philosopher  and  meditator,  and  Othello 
is  the  union  of  the  two.  There  is  something  gigan- 
tic and  unformed  in  the  former  two  ;  but  in  the 
latter  {Otkello\  everything  assumes  its  due  place 
and  proportion,  and  the  whole  mature  j)Owers  of  his 
mind  are  displayed  in  admirable  equilibrium." 

My  opinion  is,  that  the  difference  noticed  does 
not  arise  so  much  from  an  inequality  in  Shake- 
speare's genius  for  drawing  perfectly  these  three 
distinctive  characters,  but  in  the  critic's  taste  for  the 
different  subjects  they  respectively  comprehend,  and 
their  several  moral  spheres  of  action. 

A  critic,  in  the  Edhiburgh  Review  for  July, 
1840,  (Article,  "  Recent  ShaTiesjperian  Literatures^) 
asserts : — 

"  Tlic  whole  circle  of  Literature,  ancient  and 
modern,  possesses  nothing  comparable  to  that  world 


NOTES    UPON   KING  LEAR.  95 

of  thoughts,  feeliiigSj  and  images  which  is  disphiyed 
ill  the  live  great  tragedies  of  Shakespeare."  ^'^  ^  ^  ^ 

Comparing  them  with  each  other  the  same  writer 
remarks : — 

^'Zearis,  at  once  more  original  in  invention,  more 
active  in  imagination,  more  softly  pathetic  in  feel- 
ing ;  Homeo  and  Juliet  has  more  pm*e  feeling ; 
Macleth  a  closer  amalgamation  of  tragic  action 
with  thoughts  purely  ethical  ;  and  Samlet  traverses 
a  world  of  thought  in  which  all  other  existing 
dramas  linger  at  the  frontier :  but  Othello^  above 
every  other  drama,  unites  vehemence  and  nature  iu 
tragic  emotion,  with  truth  and  vigor  in  the  delinea- 
tion of  character.  Tliis  play,  above  all  others,  har- 
monizes those  two  elements,  and  makes  each  the 
counterpart,  the  supplement,  the  condition  of  the 
existence  of  the  other." 

The  poet,  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  regarded  Lear 
as  a  drama  "  universal,  ideal,  sublime ;  and  the 
most  perfect  specimen  of  dramatic  art  in  existence." 

Philadeljyhia^  December  1,  1840.  I  saw  Mr. 
Forrest  as  Lear  last  night,  at  the  Chestnut  Street 
Theatre.  He  and  myself  often  and  materially 
differ  in  our  conceptions  as  well  as  in  our  tastes  in 
personifying  them  upon  the  stage.  He  exhibits  too 
much  nerve  and  too  little  flexibility  of  voice  and 
countenance  generally  ;  his  physical  impetuosity  in 
the  curse,  beginning  "  Hear,  ]^ature  !  Hear  !  "  and 
in  Learns  rage,  wheresoever  it  occurs,  seems  to  me 


96  NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR. 

overstniiiied  and  unnatural,  whilst  his  patlios  is 
whining  and  wants  intensity,  and  seems  to  spring 
more  from  a  cool  head  than  a  warm  heart.  He 
evidently  aims  to  make  sternness  and  the  mortified 
pride  of  the  pagan  despot  Learns  strongest  charac- 
teristics ;  whilst  I  think  they  should  show  only  as 
sudden  and  transient  flashes  of  a  consuming  heart, 
but  most  clearly  alternate  and  secondary  to  the 
philanthropy  which  pervades  the  nature  of  the  sen- 
sitive old  father.  Lear'^s  occasional  bursts  of  anger 
certainly  require  of  an  actor  earnest  and  forcible 
expression,  in  order  to  realize  fully  to  an  audience 
Lear''s  outraged  sensibility ;  but  anger  which  can 
find  words  should,  at  the  same  time,  acquire  a  com- 
parative temperance,  to  give  it  smoothness ;  and 
though  a  passion  torn  to  tatters  may  obtain  more 
noisy  applause  from  the  barren  spectators,  it  is  tlie 
innate  benevolence  of  the  man,  as  is  seen  in  his 
calm  and  reasoning  intervals,  which  afi*ords  oppor- 
tunity in  acting  for  those  tender  strokes  of  art  which 
wake  the  souls  of  the  reflecting  and  judicious,  and 
stamp  the  deepest  and  most  enduring  impression, 
upon  their  hearts. 

Mr.  Forrest  seems  to  "  come  tardy  off"  in  all 
Lear's  gushes  of  tenderness,  as  though  his  own 
nature  was  too  rough  or  unrefined  to  receive  the 
im2:)ress,  and  too  sterile  to  cherish  such  delicate 
impulses ;  the  apostrophes,  too,  he  uttered  in  the 
speculative  tone  of  a  stoic  and  without  a  touch  of 
that  plaintiveness   which   should   characterize    the 


NOTES   UPON   KING   LEAR.  97 

sententioiisness  of  a  soul  overcliarged  witli  its  own 
accumulated  wrongs.  The  gentler  emotions  of  an 
aiHicted  bosom  beget  deeper  sympathy  in  the 
beholder  than  the  most  startling  paroxysms  of  rage  ; 
for,  anger^  duly  considered,  is  one  of  the  lowest 
order  of  the  passions,  and  just  in  proportion  that  any 
man  allows  it  to  rise  and  obtain  the  mastery  does  it 
dispel  his  reason  and  reduce  his  nature  to  that  mere 
instinct  which  is  common  to  the  fiercest  of  the  Irute 
creation ;  it  is  a  relic  of  barbarism  which  social 
refinement  has  abolished  by  crowning  mildness  and 
equanimity  with  its  good  graces,  and  by  stigmatiz- 
ing a  loss  of  temper  as  rudeness  and  ill-breeding. 

Mr.  Forrest  recites  the  text  as  though  it  were  all 
prose,  and  not  occasionally  written  in  poetic  mea- 
sure ;  whereas,  blank  verse  can,  and  always  should 
be  distinguishable  from  prose  by  proper  modulations 
of  the  voice  which  a  listener  with  a  nice  ear  and  a 
cultivated  taste  could  not  mistake,  nor  if  confounded 
detect  in  their  respective  recitals :  else  Milton,  as 
well  as  Shakespeare,  has  toiled  to  little  purpose  in. 
the  best  proportioned  numbers. 

Mr.  Forrest's  countenance,  as  made  up  for  Lear,  is 
inflexible,  stern,  and  forbidding :  he  has,  too,  a  favorite 
grim  scowl :  his  eyebrows  arc  made  so  shaggy  and 
willowy,  they  hide  the  eyes  too  much :  and  his 
beard,  though  long  and  picturesque,  covers  some 
useful  and  important  muscles  of  the  face,  making  it 
rigid  and  incapable  of  depicting  efi*ectively  the  alter- 
nate lights  and  shades  of  benevolence  and  irascibility 

r- 

o 


98  NOTES  UPON  KING  LEAR. 

as  tliey  fluctuate  in  Learns  agitated  mind ;  nor,  do 
I  fancy  Mr.  Forrest's  tread  of  the  stage  with  his  toes 
inclined  somewhat  inward  like  that  of  an  Indian ; 
for  the  reason  that  it  renders  Lear's  personal  car- 
riage undignified  :  there  is  a  want  of  keeping  too  in 
the  paralytic  action  of  his  head  and  limbs,  which  at 
times  exhibit  too  firm  a  repose  for  a  man  "  fourscore 
and  upwards,"  and  then  at  others  a  shaking  so  vio- 
lent and  overdone  as  to  verge  closely  upon  carica- 
ture. 

At  the  close  of  the  following  dialogue,  namely — 

"  Lear.  Dost  tliou  know  me,  fellow  ? 

Kent.  No,  Sir!   but  you  have   that  in   your   countenance 
which  I  would  fain  call  master. 
Lear.  What's  that? 
Kent.  Authority  I" 

Mr.  Forrest  paused  here  some  seconds,  wagged 
his  head  about  and  smiled  very  significantly  as 
though  Learns  vanity  was  particularly  pleased  that 
his  features  had  indicated  to  a  poor-service-beggar, 
an  autocratio  rule — one  to  which  Lear  (be  it  remem- 
bered !)  had  been  born,  ever  been  used,  and  then 
had  never  yet  had  disputed. 

In  the  last  scene  of  the  first  act  Mr.  Forrest 
adhered  to  ITahum  Tate's  injudicious  omission  of  the 
bit  of  pathos  with  which  Shakespeare  has  interposed 
before  the  curse-direct. 

'-'■Lear.  What,  fifty  of  my  followers  at  a  clap! — within  a 
fortnight  ? 


KOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR.  99 

ATbany.  What's  the  matter,  sir  ? 

Lear.   I'll  tell  thee  I     (Therij  with  falling  tears  and  cJioJdng 
utterarLce^  turned  to  Goneril.)     Life  and  death  !  I  am  asham'd 
That  thou  hast  power  to  shake  my  manhood  thus ; 
That  these  hot  tears  which  break  from  me  perforce, 
Should  make  thee  worth  them. — Blasts  and  fogs  upon  thee  ! 
The  untented  woundings  of  a  father's  curse 
Pierce  every  sense  about  thee !  &c." 

Though  it  may  be  judicious  to  transpose  some  of 
this  matter,  as  Tate  has  done — making  it  antecedent 
instead  of  subsequent  to  that  terrific  invocation  which 
begins  "  Hear,  N^ature,  hear !"  and  at  tlie  end 
whereof,  according  to  Shakespeare,  Leai'  "rushes 
out  "  for  a  few  moments  and  "  returns  "  exclaiming 
as  above  (quoted  in  parenthesis),  I  decidedly  disap- 
prove of  Tate's  rejection  of  the  pathetic  portion,  and 
have  restored  it;  because,  first,  it  bespeaks  the 
sympathy  of  the  audience,  breaks  the  continuity  of 
cursing,  mitigates  the  shock  and  averts  its  abhorrent 
quality  when  Lear  vents  the  bitterness  of  his  burst- 
ing heart ;  and  secondly,  because  it  discovers  that 
malevolence,  though  provokable,  is  neither  upper- 
most, nor  wanton,  nor  gratuitous,  nor  unremitted  in 
Learh  nature. 

In  the  curse,  after  falling  upon  his  knees,  Mr.  For- 
rest exhibited  Learns  nervous  system  so  relaxed,  that 
from  the  commencement  to  the  climax  he  shook  con- 
stantly and  from  head  to  toe ;  not  unlike  some  poor 
fitful  victim  of  what  is  called  St.  Yitus's  Dance — 
whereas,  according  to  my  observation  of  Nature, 


100  NOTES   UPON   KING   LEAK. 

old  and  ordiiuirily  nervous  men,  during  a  fit  of  exces- 
sive anger,  become  comparatively  firm  and  strong 
in  their  bodily  faculties,  wliicb  sink  again  as  the 
temporary  excitement  subsides  into  a  proportion- 
ately lower  state  of  debility  ;  that  Shakespeare  him- 
self thus  regarded  man's  physique  in  old  age,  be  it 
remembered  that  he  has  made  Lea'i\  just  before 
breathing  his  last,  recover  strength  enough  to  "kill 
the  slave  that  was  hanging  Cordelia;" — having 
"  seen  the  time  he  could  have  make  them  skip  ;" — a 
circumstance  not  impossible  for  such  an  old  man, 
but  which  however  Shakespeare's  good  taste  pre- 
ferred Lear'* 8  description^  but  which  Tate  has  under- 
taken to  bring  into  effective  action  upon  the  stage, 
where  I  have  always  seen  it  fail :  indeed,  it  seemed 
so  ludicrous  to  the  spectators  that  many  have 
laughed  outright  whenever  a  representation  of  that 
conceivable  feat  was  attempted. 

"  Kent.  (In  the  stocJxS.)     Hail,  noble  master ! 
Lear.  How  I     Mak'st  thou  this  shame  thy  pastime  ?" 

It  struck  me  here  that  Mr.  Forrest  descried 
Kenfs  condition  from  his  own  distance  too  readily 
for  the  "  dull  sight "  of  which  Lear  complains  after- 
wards ;  nor  did  Mr.  Forrest  attempt,  when  Lear  dis- 
covered Kenfs  disgraceful  pastime,  to  make  mani- 
fest through  his  features  and  manner  the  surprise 
an^  indignation  occasioned  by  such  a  palpable 
insult  as  he  esteems  it  according  to  his  expressions 
of  resentment. 


NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR.  101 

Mr.  Forrest  made  no  point,  nor  seemed  to  attach 
any  characteristic  value  to  the  line, 

"  The  KI]^a  would  speak  with  CornwaU!  " 


of  which  it  is  susceptible.  It  can  be  made  to  tell 
with  an  audience,  particularly  by  Lear'^s  making  a 
short  pause  before  uttering  the  sentence,  gradually 
straighten  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and,  with 
majestic  pride  and  bearing,  dwell,  with  deep 
intonation  and  powerful  emphasis,  upon  the  word 

In  the  menace  which  Lear  orders  Gloster  to  con- 
vey— 

"bid  them  come  forth  and  hear  me, 


Or,  at  their  chamber  door  I'll  beat  the  drum, 
'Tin  it  cry  sleep,  to  death  ! " 

The  actor  of  Lear  should  remain  prominently 
forward,  near  the  footlights,  as  Gloster  brings  the 
excuses  of  the  Duke  and  his  wife  for  not  deio^nino- 
to  s^ealv  with  him,  and,  at  the  climax  of  Lear'^s 
threat,  let  Cornwall  and  Regan  come  hastily  for- 
ward, and  appear  suddenly  at  Learns  right  hand 
{Gloster  being  on  his  left  side),  when,  with  mingled 
surprise  and  mock  courtesy,  and  in  a  loud  ironical 
tone,  his  gibe  can  be  made  most  effectively  : — 

"  Oh !  Are  you  come  !  " 

but  Mr.  Forrest,  having  finished  the  threat  which 
he  had  commanded  Gloster  to  convey  to  his  reluc- 


102  NOTES  UPON   Kixa  LEAR. 

tant  son-in-law  and  delinquent  daughter,  instead  of 
awaiting  the  eflect  of  his  message,  walked  112?  the 
stage  and  met  them  in  their  gateway ;  a  situation 
which  precluded  Lear  the  opportunity  for  a  strong 
point — afforded  by  Tate's  arrangement  of  the  break 
and  exclamation. 

Mr.  Forrest,  in  articulating  the  letter  "  O  "  in 
"  'bones^''  allowed  so  little  quantity  that  it  sounded 
like  "  hmw  I  "  also,  the  double  "  O  "  in  '''-food  "  was 
given  short,  as  in  '-^  footP 

There  was  no  pungency  in  Mr.  Forrest's  tone  or 
manner  when  he  taunted  Goneril, — 

"  I  will  not  trouble  thee,  mj  child ;  farewell  1 " 

nor  in  the  rebuke, — 

" But,  I'll  not  chide  thee; 
*****!  can  stay  with  Regan, 
I  and  my  hundred  knights." 

[N'ow,  be  it  observed,  that  the  more  boastfully 
Zear  is  made  to  utter  this  last  line  of  his  invective, 
the  greater  must  be  his  confusion,  the  deeper  his 
mortification,  and  the  more  intolerable  his  sense  of 
disaj^pointment  and  degradation,  when  Regan  ab- 
ruptly checks  his  confident  expectations,  with — 

"  Not  altogether  so,  sir; 
I  looked  not  for  you  yet,  nor  am  provided 
For  your  fit  welcome  :  Give  ear  to  my  sister,"  etc. 


NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR.  103 

Lear,  then,  with  a  spirit   quite  subdued,  inter- 
jects-^ 

"Is  this  well  spoken,  twxv  f  " 

also,  when  Itegan  concludes, 

"  If  you  wiU  come  to  me, 
(For  now  I  spy  a  danger)  I  entreat  you 
To  bring  but  live-and-twenty  *  to  no  more 
Will  I  give  place  or  notice," 

it  makes  Lear's  distress  and  utter  helplessness  the 
more  apparent,  and  his  heart-breaking  recollection 
and  expression — 

"  /gave  you  ALL  1  " — 

the  more  natural  and  sympathy-winning  to  an 
audience.  Lear^  now  humbled  and  embarrassed 
bj  his  reduced  condition  and  forlorn  situation, 
implores  Regan  to  reconsider  her  edict,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  deprecates  a  confirmation  of  her  de- 
grading decree — thus — 

"  What,  must  I  come  to  you 
With  five-and-twenty,  Regan  ?    Said  you  so  ?  " 

Began  answers : — 

"  And  speak  it  again,  my  lord ;  no  more  with  me  I 
Lear.  Those  wicked  creatures  yet  do  look  well-favor' d, 
When  others  are  more  wicked ;  not  being  the  worst, 
Stands  in  some  rank  of  praise :  I'll  go  with  thee. 

[Turning  to  QoneriV 


104  NOTES   UPON  KING  LEAR. 

Mr.  Forrest  liere  went  unhesitatingly  and  put  liis 
hand  iipon  Goneril  rather  affectionately^  which  I 
thi.nk  morally  impossible  with  such  a  nature  and 
under  the  circumstances,  for  Lear  to  persuade  him- 
self to  do ;  because,  though  he  says  to  Goneril — 

"  Thy  fifty  yet  doth  double  five  and  twenty, 
And  tliou  art  twice  her  love — " 

his  is  only  a  choice  of  two  evils,  and  an  alternatiye 
forced  by  his  necessity  ;  in  fact,  so  poor  is  the  qua- 
lity of  GoneriVs  love,  though  "  twice "  that  of 
Hegan^  it  could  not  renew  his  affection,  nor  even 
paternal  regard  for  Goneril  most  particular!}^, 
having  cursed  her  most  bitterly,  and  so  recently, 
and  on  three  several  occasions ;  for  this  reason, 
instead  of  saying  readily  or  cordially — 

"rUgowith^Aee/'* 

as  Mr.  Forrest  does  to  Goneril^  I  prefer  that  Lear 
should  hesitate  a  little — as  if  self-debating  his  own 
extremity — and  then,  only  half-turning  his  person 
towards  Goneril^  utter  the  line  ("  I'll  go  with 
thes  P\  constrainedly  and  in  a  tone  of  painful 
repuguance;  because,  after  all,  Lear^  though  shorn 
of  his  autocratic  sway  and  pride  of  power,  in  his 
heart  cared  less  about  the  number  of  his  retinue 
than  these  insulting  proofs  of  his  two  daughters' 
grudging  and  ungrateful  spirit,  in  thus  reducing  his 
individual  consequence,  and  an  appearance  becom- 
ing— 


NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR.  105 

"  the  name  alone  of  Kinff," 


07 


wliicli  only  remained  to  liim  after  partitioning  Lis 
kinirdom. 


o 


"  Goneril.  Hear  me,  my  lord  ! 

"What  need  you  five  and  twenty,  ten  or  five, 
To  follow  in  a  house  where  twice  so  many 
Have  a  command  to  tend  you  ? 

Regan.  What  need  one  ? 

Lear.  [0,  reason  not  the  need :  our  basest  beggars 
Are,  in  the  poorest  thing,  superfluous : 
Allow  not  Nature  more  than  Xature  needs. 
Man's  life  is  cheap  as  beast's :  thou  art  a  lady  : 
If  only  to  go  warm  were  gorgeous, 
Why  Nature  needs  not  what  thou  gorgeous  wear'st 
Which  scarcely  keeps  thee  warm.     But  for  true  need, 
You  Heavens!  give  me  patience  f  that,  Iiieedf] 
You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 
As  full  of  grief  as  age ;  wretched  in  both, 
&c.,  &c.,  &c.     Oh,  fool,  I  shall  go  mad!" 

The  portion  of  Zear^s  words,  quoted  above  and 
written  within  my  brackets,  contains  so  mncli  of 
poetry,  philosophy,  and  character,  that  in  studying 
the  part  of  Zear,  I  determined  to  restore  what  Tate 
had  omitted,  and  render  it  on  the  stage  in  the  hope 
that  it  might  please  some  lover  of  Sliakespeare  in 
his  integrity.  Apropos,  what  can  be  more  graphic, 
and  at  the  same  time  more  beautifully  poetic,  than 
the  following  description  given  by  the  "  Gentle- 
man," met  by  JTent  upon  the  heath  and  inquired  of 
by  him  when  searching  for  Zea?'  amid  the  storm. 
I  esteem  it  an  exquisite  morceau — 

5* 


106  NOTES   UPON  KING  LEAR. 

"  Kent  "Where's  the  king  ? 

Gentlemayi.  Contending  with  the  fretful  elements. 
Bids  the  wind  blow  the  earth  into  the  sea, 
Or  swell  the  curled  waters  'bove  the  main, 
That  things  might  change  or  cease :  tears  his  white  hair : 
"Which  the  impetuous  blasts  with  eyeless  rage, 
Catch  in  their  fury,  and  make  nothing  of : 
Strives  in  his  little  world  of  man  to  outscorn 
The  to-and-fro  conflicting  wind  and  rain. 
This  night,  wherein  the  cub-drawn  bear  would  couch, 
The  lion  and  the  belly-pinched  wolf 
Keep  their  fur  dry,  unbonneted  he  runs, 
And  bids  what  will  take  alV* 

According  to  my  idea,  in  the  defiance  of  the 
storm, 

"Blow,  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks !" 


Mr.  Forrest  seemed  deficient  in  that  wild  energy 
implied  by  the  text  and  demanded  by  the  circum- 
stances ;  also,  Mr.  Forrest  addressed  to  JS^e7it  the 
passage — 

"  "What,  so  kind  a  father — ay,  there's  the  point,"  &c., 

which,  I  think,  should  be  uttered  dbstractedly.  In- 
stead of  the  original  text — 

"  The  tempest  in  my  mind 
Doth  from  my  senses  take  all  feeUng  else 
Save  what  beats  i/iere," 

Mr.  Forrest  substituted  the  word  liere  (for  Shake- 
speare's "  there''')  and  pointed  to  his  hearty  whereas, 


NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAK.  107 

I  take  it,  Leav  refers  to  Lis  hrain^  an  organ  wliicli 
beats  as  sensibly  as  the  heart  under  violent  mental 
excitement,  and  mentions  elsewhere — "  lest  my 
h'ain  tnrn" — "  I  am  cut  to  the  hrain.^'^  Characters 
in  other  plays  of  Shakespeare  speak  of  a  "  troubled 
brain,"  and  "  perturbation  of  the  brain,"  and  of  the 
"  brain  fuming." 
Mr.  Forrest  gave  with  a  smile  of  idiotic  pleasure, 

"  The  little  dogs  and  all, 
Tray,  Blanch,  and  Sweetheart,  see — they  bark  at  me," 

whereas,  I  understand  Lear  to  be  annoyed  by  some 
disagreeable  fancy,  w^hich  would  cause  him  to  start 
and  shrink  back  from  the  imaginary  objects  named. 
The  context  convinces  me  that  Shakespeare  intended 
Lear  to  exhibit  great  uneasiness  just  then;  because, 
it  is  Lear's  answer  to  Kenfs  question  when  animad- 
verting upon  Lear's  ravings — 

("  Kent.  0  pity  ! — Sir,  where  is  the  patience^  now, 
That  you  so  oft  have  boasted  to  retain  ?") 

besides  that,  Edgar  evidently  understands  Lear  to 
be  troubled  by  such  imagined  harking  of  those 
dogs ;  else  he  would  not  have  taken  such  pains  to 
humor  Lear's  deranged  fancy,  and  to  scare  the  dogs 
away ;  thus — 

"  Edgar.  Tom  will  throw  his  head  at  them : 
Avaunt,  you  curs  !  &c.,  &c. 
Lear.  Thou  hast  seen  a  farmer's  dog  bark  at  a  beggar  ? 
Gloster.  Ay,  Sir ! 
Lear.  And  the  man  ran  from  the  cur  .^" 


108  ^  NOTES  UPON   KING   LEAR. 

Mr.  Forrest,  instead  of  articulating  as  antitheses 
"  onan "  and  "•  cur,^''  laid  the  strongest  possible 
emphasis  npon  the  ^preposition  "  from." 

When  Lea7\  in  a  paroxysm,  attempts  to  tear  off 
his  clothes,  saying — 

"  Off,  off,  you  lendings : — Come  uiibutton  here  1" 

Mr.  Forrest  tore  open  his  dress  from  his  neck  to  his 
chest  and  discovered  a  naked  body,  without  any 
sign  of  there  being  or  having  been  a  shirt  worn 
between,  which  I  consider  an  unreasonable  omis- 
sion ;  because,  whatever  the  proper  costume  of  those 
rude  times  wherein  the  action  of  the  play  is  laid 
may  have  been,  and  even  supposing  that  history 
could  establish  a  shirt  to  be  a  more  onodern  refine- 
ment, Shakespeare  makes  the  absence  of  a  shirt 
upon  Lear  an  inconsistency  ;  forasmuch  as,  Edgar, 
a  son  of  one  of  Learns  dukes  and  his  subject,  boasts 
of  having  formerly  rejoiced  in  half  a  dozen  among 
his  wardrobe,  viz. — 

"  Edgar.  Poor  Tom,  &c.,  who  hath  had  three  suits  to  his 
back,  six  shirts  to  his  hocly^  horse  to  ride,"  &c. 

In  Learns  dying  speech  over  the  dead  Cordelia^ 

"  And  my  poor  fool  is  hang'd  !     No,  no,  no  Hfe  : 
Why  should  a  dog,  a  horse,  a  rat  have  life, 
And  thou  no  breath  at  all  ?     0,  thou  wilt  come  no  more. 
Never,  never,  never,  never,  never ! 
Pray  you,  undo  this  button  :  thank  you.  Sir. 
Do  you  see  this?     Look  on  her — look — her  lips — 
Look  there^  look  there  ! — (Dies.) 


NOTES  UPON  KING  LEAR.  109 

Mr.  Forrest,  instead  of  uttering — 

"  And  my  poor  fool  is  liang'd  !" 

By  way  of  an  apostrophe  to  GordelicCs  fate,  turned 
from  the  conteniphition  of  the  lifeless  object  of  his 
all-absorbing  solicitude  and  spoke  the  line  interroga- 
tively to  Kent,  as  though  Lear  could  abstract  his 
thoughts  then  from  Cordelia  to  inquire  about  the 
fate  of  his  professional  "fool"  or  jester,  whereas,  I 
am  confirmed  by  a  careful  re-consideration  of  my 
original  conception  that  by  ''^ ])oor  fooV  in  this 
place  Lear  refers  to  his  C(yrdelia,  whom  lie  in  his 
madness  just  before  has  refused  to  believe  dead, 
and  whom  until  that  moment  he  has  been  trying  to 
arouse,  by  saying  in  the  ear  of  her  corpse — 

"  I  kill'd  the  slave  that  was  a  hanging  thee." 

But,  at  this  juncture,  having  exhausted  his  ingenuity 
in  efforts  to  discover  a  sign  of  life  in  her,  con- 
cludes— 

"  And  my  poor  fool  is  hang'd !" 

or  in  other  words — '  After  all,  I  find  that  my  poor 
innocent  is  indeed  strangled  to  death.  There  is  "  no 
life  "  in  her !'  For  my  part,  I  cannot  imagine  how 
any  careful  student  or  judicious  reader  of  Shake- 
speare's context  here  (and  elsewhere  in  connexion 
with  the  epithet)  can  doubt  that  Lear,  by  "poor 
fool "  refers  to  his  unwise  in  her  beginning  and 
unfortunate   in  her    ending-daughter,   Cordelia,  or 


110  NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR. 

how,  if  any  candid  mind  had  doubted  at  first,  but 
had  read  and  reflected  upon  the  strong  and  hicid 
arguments  of  Steevens  and  of  Malone,  in  opposition 
to  the  fanciful,  but  solitarj-thoughted,  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  upon  this  very  point,  a  conviction  could 
be  avoided  that  Steevens  and  Malone  were  in  the 
right;  Sir  Joshua  w^as  evidently  a  clearer-sighted 
genius  in  the  art  of  painting,  than  in  his  penetration 
into  the  mind's  eye  of  Shakespeare  in  drawing  his 
pictures  of  humanity. 

"When  LeaT  in  the  storm,  uses  the  same  words  in 
speaking  to  "his  poor"  shivering  Jester^  he  adds 
another  epithet  which  characterizes  his  vocation, 
viz. : 

"  My  poor  fool  and  hnave  /"  « 

N.B. — The  foregoing  is  copied  from  my  original 
M.S.  ]!!Totes  upon  Mr.  Forrest^ s  performance  of  Lear 
in  Philadelphia^  Dec.  1,  1840. 

Mem.  New  Yorh,  Oct.  26,  I860.— I  saw  Mr.  For- 
rest again  in  this  character  at  ISTiblo's  theatre.  I 
noticed  no  material  diiference  except  that  he  was  in 
his  physical  eftorts  comparatively  a  little  less  vigor- 
ous. 


MACREADT. 

By  the  way,  apropos  of  Lear'^s  "  fool,"  when  Mr. 
Macready  and  myself  chanced  to  sojourn  together  at 
New  Orleans,  in  1844,  and  were  taking  a  walk  for 


NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR.  Ill 

exercise  oae  day,  that  eminent  artist  observed  to 
me — 

"  Mr.  Hackett,  a  common  friend  (David  Cadwa- 
lader  Golden  of  JSTew  York),  lias  intimated  to  me  that 
you  have  been  a  particular  student  of  Lear^  and  I 
should  like  you  much  to  sec  ony  Lear  j  in  order  to 
have  your  judgment  upon  my  taste  in  adapting  the 
original  to  the  stage,  and  most  especially  upon  my 
idea  of  causing  the  fool  to  be  personated  by  a 
woman.)  who  can  look  like  a  hoy  of  eighteen  and  also 
siiig  to  the  king  upon  the  heath  and  during  his  mad- 
ness those  occasional  couplets  which  Shakespeare 
has  put  into  the  FooVs  mouth,  to  divert  Lear  in  his 
misery." 

I  did  seize  the  first  opportunity  to  see  his  perform- 
ance ;  one  occurred  only  a  few  nights  afterwards. 
When  Mr.  Macready  and  myself  met  next,  he 
inquired  how  I  liked  his  idea  of  having  Lear'^s  Fool 
thus  represented. 

I  replied — 

"  It  is  a  pretty  and  ingenious  conceit,  and  not 
ineffective  at  times ;  but,  L  have  imagined  that  this 
Fool  was  introduced  by  Shakespeare,  not  only  in 
conformity  with  the  usages  of  primitive  times  as  an 
attendant  of  a  king,  but,  in  this  play  and  occasion^  as 
a  sort  of  practical  cynic  /  in  order  that  such  Fool 
might  extract  and  point  the  moral  of  the  passing 
scene  to  the  understandings  of  the  audiences  of 
Shakespeare's  day,  composed  as  they  must  have 
been  mostly  of   the  uneducated  populace  of   an 


112  KOTES  UPON  KING  LEAE. 

unlettered  and  unrefined  Age — sucli  scraps  of  moral 
caustic  as  a  king's  "  fool  and  knave  "  was  privileged 
to  interject  at  intervals  must  reasonably  be  supposed 
to  have  originated  in  tlie  fool's  mind  natiircdly^  and 
to  have  been  the  result  of  an  acute  observation, 
with  previous  opportunities  and  much  experience  of 
the  world  I  but,  Mr.  Macreadj,  it  seems  to  me  that 
such  wisdom  in  thought,  and  aptitude  in  expression 
and  of  apj)lwation  to  passing  events,  from  the  mouth 
of  '  a  1)01)  of  eighteen^  would  be  more  than  prodi- 
gious: to  the  reflecting  and  judicious  of  the 
audience  such  wisdom  and  satire  would  seem  j^reter- 
natural,  or  to  have  been  derived  from  nothing  short 
of  Inspiration.'^'^ 

Mr.  Macready  listened  to  me  very  attentively, 
and  without  the  least  interruption  ;  and,  when  I  had 
concluded,  uttered  not  a  word  in  defence  or  support 
or  justification  of  his  innovation. 

Mr.  Macready's  King  Lear  was  in  conception  very 
generally  in  accordance  with  my  own,  and  his  per- 
formance scholarly  and  highly  artistic ;  the  main 
defects,  which  I  detected  in  his  attempt  to  personate 
Lear  and  which  frequently  destroyed  the  illusion, 
arose  from  his  too-often  forgetting,  in  the  carriage 
of  his  body,  and  by  the  quickness  and  the  vigor  of 
his  movements  and  action,  as  well  as  the  occasional 
strength  of  his  lungs,  that  Lear  was  "  fourscore  and 
upwards  and  a  weak  and  infirm  old  nianP 

I  saw  the  King  Lear  of  Edmund  Kean  repeatedly 
when  in  Ameriba,  in  1826.     His  performance  of  the 


NOTES   UPON  KING  LEAE.  113 

character  was  very  uneven.  lie  seemed  to  have 
contented  himself  with  searching  for  points  suscep- 
tible of  brilliant  eflect  in  each  of  Learns  scenes,  and 
in  making  their  splendor  great  enough  to  either 
blind  the  mass  of  his  audience  towards,  or  make 
them  forgetful  of  his  intervening^  ojid  frequent^  and 
pal])cd)le  deficiencies.  Mr.  Kean  evidently  possessed 
the  ability,  but  had  not  had,  originally,  either  the 
will  or  the  industry  necessary,  in  both  study  and 
practice,  to  make  his  impersonation  of  Lectr — like 
his  Othello — as  a  lohole^  transcendent. 

The  history  and  traditions  of  the  stage,  to  this 
day,  point  to  David  Garrick  as  the  greatest  actor  of 
Lecir  that  has  ever  lived.  Murphy,  his  biographer, 
has  preserved  to  us  a  remarkably  full  description  of 
that  performance,  and  records — ^^  King  Lear  was 
Garrick's  most  perfect  effort ; — in  this  part  he  has 
remained  without  equal  or  rival.  He  was  trans- 
formed into  a  feeble  old  man,  still,  however,  retain- 
ing an  air  of  royalty.  He  had  no  sudden  starts,  no 
violent  gesticulations ;  his  movements  were  slow 
and  languid  ;  misery  was  depicted  in  every  feature 
of  his  face  ;  he  moved  his  head  in  the  most  delibe- 
rate manner  ;  his  eyes  were  fixed,  or,  if  they  turned 
to  any  one  near  him,  he  made  a  pause,  and  fixed 
his  look  on  the  person  after  much  delay,  \i\^  features 
at  the  same  time  expressing  lohat  he  icas  going  to 
say  hefore  he  utt-ered  a  wordP  Then  Mr.  Garrick 
did  not  think  it  necessary — "  as  many  of  our  play- 
ers do  " — to  cover  up  with  thick  white  hair  his  fea- 


11-i  NOTES   UPON   KING  LEAR. 

tares :  tliey  may  tlius  be  made  picturesque,  but 
rigid  and  incapable  of  expressing  occasional  alter- 
nations of  the  countenance.  The  late  Charles 
Young,  of  Covent  Garden,  London,  for  such  rea- 
sons wore  for  Lear  a  thin  and  scattered  beard  upon 
his  cheeks,  and  proportionately  short  from  the  chin. 


PART  IV. 

ACTORS   OF   HAMLET. 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 


Hamlet  may  justly  be  called  one  of  those  beings 
wlio  "  resolves  and  re-resolves,  yet  dies  the  same." 

Some  analytical  and  instructive  notices  of  the 
character  may  be  found  in  the  following  literary 
works,  viz.  ; — 

Schlegel's  Lectures. 

Goethe's  Wilhelmeister^ s  Apprenticeship. 

Davies'  Life  of  Garriclc. 

Boaden's  Life  of  John  P.  Kemhle. 

I  have  become  fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
what  Schlegel  says  of  the  character  of  Hamlet^  viz. 
''  Many  of  his  traits  are  too  nice  and  too  delicate 
for  the  stage,  and  can  only  be  seized  by  a  great 
actor  and  understood  by  an  acute  audience." 

A  critic,  contemporary  with  Garrick,  remarks  : — 
"  Among  the  requisites  for  a  perfect  delineation  of 
this  difficult  character  are — the  ease  of  a  gentleman, 
the   dignity   of    a   prince,   symmetry   of    features, 


118  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

expression  of  countenance,  and  flexibility  of  voice 
— to  give  proper  variety  to  the  vehement  passions, 
weight  to  the  declamation,  and  poignancy  to  the 
spirited  and  satirical  parts — -joined  with  originality 
and  sound  judgment." 

Among  the  various  performers  of  any  pretension 
to  eminence  in  the  character  of  Hamlet^  whom  I 
remember  in  my  youth,  the  earliest  was 


Thomas  A.  Cooper, 

From  1816  to  1818,  at  the  ParTc   Theatre^    New 

York, 

Mr.  Cooper  was  noted,  at  that  time,  for  a  hand- 
some face  and  a  commanding  and  an  Apollo-like 
figure,  and  his  Hamlet  was  a  favorite  and  particu- 
larly attractive  with  the  public  ; — indeed,  he  was 
generally  popular  in  many  if  not  most  of  the  cha- 
racters wherein  John  Philip  Kemble  had  become 
famous  upon  the  London  stage,  and  Mr.  Cooper  was 
said  to  have  modelled  his  own  after  the  style  of  that 
great  actor,  with  which  he  had  become  familiar  in 
his  youth,  and  prior  to  his  first  visit,  his  early  mar- 
riage into  one  of  the  first  families  at  ]^ew  York, 
and  his  subsequent  life-long  residence  in  the  United 
States.*      After  the   death   of   George    Frederick 

*  Mr.   Cooper  married  Miss  Mary  Fairlie,  a  daughter  of  Major 
Fairlie,  of  the  American   Revolution  ;  and  Mr.  Cooper's  daughter 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  119 

Cooke,  in  1812,  and  until  the  first  advent  of  l\[r. 
Wallack,  in  1818,  and  of  Edmund  Kean,  in  1820, 
Mr.  Cooper  was  tlie  only  theatrical  star  in  our 
Western  hemisphere,  and  ^ew  York  had — and 
continued  to  have  until  1824 — only  the  Parli  The- 
atre. 

I  was  too  young  when  I  first  saw  Mr.  Cooper's 
Samlet  and  had  too  vague  a  conception  of  the  cha- 
racter to  criticise  that  performance  ;  though  I  well 
remember  that  his  voice  was  full  and  of  consider- 
able compass,  and  his  articulation  was  very  distinct ; 
his  eyes,  which  were  of  a  pale  blue,  and  habitually 
— perhaps  owing  to  near-siglitedness — somewhat 
contracted,  were  not  effective  in  his  art,  and  his 
countenance  had  little  flexibility ;  his  gestures  were 
usually  formal  and  sometimes  stiff,  and  the  carriage 
of  his  body  was  generally  heavy  and  sluggish,  and 
occasionally,  in  action  or  movement,  clumsy  and 
ungraceful ;  his  style  was  cold  and  declamatory,  and 
sometimes  turgid  or  bombastic  ;  yet,  in  some  other 
parts,  and  particularly  in  Shakespeare's  Mark  An- 
tony^ and  as  Brutus^  in  J.  Howard  Payne's  adap- 
tation of  TTie  Fall  of  Tarquin^  and  also  in  Sheridan 
Knowles's  Yirginiiis,  and  his  Damon,  when  Mr. 
Cooper  first  performed  the  latter  characters,  and 
yet  retained  enough  of  his  natural  impulse  to  break 


Priscilla,  -who  had  been  favorably  received  by  the  pubhc  as  an  actress, 
left  the  stage  to  become  the  wife  of  Mr.  Robert  Tyler,  a  son  of 
ex-President  John  Tyler. 


120  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

away  from  tlie  trammels  of  his  m'iginal  schooling^ 
lie  exhibited  some  very  touching  and  highly  effec- 
tive hits  of  acting. 

Note. — When  Mr.  Washington  Irving,  to  whom  I  had 
loaned  for  perusal,  in  1848,  my  manuscript  volume  respecting 
my  own  reminiscences  of  by-gone  actors  of  Hamlet^  returned 
it,  I  found  that  he  had  done  me  the  favor  to  note  in  pencil 
upon  the  margin  as  follows : — 

"  At  this  time  Cooper  had  lost  the  fire  and  fiesibihty  of  his 
earlier  style  of  acting.  He  grew  cold,  formal,  and  declamatory 
as  he  j)assed  liis  meridian." 

W.  I. 


ja:mes  w.  wallack. 

mw   Yorh,  1818-19. 

Me.  Wallack  then  seemed  not  more  than  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  came  directly  from  Drmy  Lane, 
London,  where  he  had  already  attained  a  high  rank 
in  a  profession  then  graced  by  many  eminent 
artists ;  and  the  season  of  1818  was  Mr.  Wallack's 
first  in  America.  His  figure  and  personal  bearing 
on  or  off  the  stage  were  very  distingue  •  his  eye  was 
sparkling ;  his  hair  dark,  curly,  and  luxuriant ;  his 
facial  features  finely  chiselled ;  and  together  with 
the  natural  conformation  of  his  head,  throat,  and 
chest,  Mr.  Wallack  presented  a  remarkable  speci- 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  121 

men  of  manly  beauty.  lie  at  once  became,  and 
continued  to  be,  during  visits  which  were  repeated, 
occasionally  protracted,  and  were  seldom  separated 
bv  intervals  lonsrer  than  a  theatrical  season  or  two 
each,  and  for  a  term  of  more  than  twenty  years,  one 
of  the  greatest  and  most  invariably  attractive 
favorites  furnished  the  American  by  the  British 
stage. 

"With  particular  reference  to  Mr.  Wallack's  Ham- 
let^ which  as  it  has  happened  I  have  not  had  an 
opportunity  to  witness  since  my  youth^  when  my 
ideas  of  the  character  were  crude  and  superficial, 
and  which,  therefore,  it  would  be  unjust  in  me  now 
to  criticise  retrospectively,  I  did  then  very  well  note 
that  Mr.  Wallack's  action  was  easy  and  graceful ; 
his  voice  and  articulation  were  clear  and  distinct ; 
and  though  from  the  impression  it  made,  and  which 
I  still  retain  of  that  early-seen  performance,  it 
might  according  to  my  later  and  more  matured 
ideal  have  lacked  a  sufficiency  of  vjeigJit  in  the 
philosophical  portions,  and  also  of  depth  and  in- 
tensity of  meditation  in  the  soliloquies,  it  was  then 
unanimously  approved  and  a  special  favorite  with 
the  I^ew  York  public. 

Mr.  Wallack,  besides  being  popular  in  a  number 
of  leading  tragic  parts,  was  esteemed  without  an 
equal  as  Don  Felix  in  the  comedy  of  The  Wonder^ 
and  throughout  the  range  of  genteel  and  high- 
spirited  comedy  generally,  as  also  in  a  number  of 
melodramatic  characters.     His  Martin  Heywood  in 

6 


122  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

The  Rent  Danj^  Massaroni  in  The  Brigand^  and  Lis 
Don  Gtvsar  de  Bazan  in  later  years,  manifested  a 
high  and  exquisite  order  of  art ;  whilst  those  who 
in  Mr.  Wallack's  early  days  saw  his  RoUoj  in  the 
play  of  Pizarro  can  never  forget  that  it  was  unap- 
proached  by  any  other  performer,  and  the  most 
remarkably  picturesque,  fascinating,  and  continu- 
ally attractive  performance  then  known  to  the 
American  stage.  In  versatility  of  talent,  probably 
the  stage  has  never  had  any  other  actor  capable  of 
satisfying  the  public  in  such  a  variety  of  prominent 
characters :  his  costumes,  too,  were  remarkably 
characteristic,  and  always  in  admirable  taste,  and 
Mr.  Wallack,  in  every  respect,  has  proved  himself 
a  complete  master  of  the  histrionic  art. 


WILLIAJSI  AUGUSTUS  CONWAY. 

mw  TorJc,  1825. 

3fr.  Comoay  came  from  England  to  America 
during  the  season  of  1823.  He  had  been  a  great 
favorite  whilst  Miss  CNeil  shone  at  Covent  Gar- 
den, London,  as  a  tragic  star  of  the  first  magnitude  ; 
he  having  supported  that  famous  actress  in  the  prin- 
cipal male  characters  of  the  dramas  wherein  she 
appeared.  It  was  reported  that  ^'  Mrs.  Siddons  had 
pronounced  him  superior  in  several  respects  to  any 
actor  of  that  day ;"  and  it  was  also  said  and  gene- 


ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET.  123 

rally  believed,  too,  that  "the  popularity  he  was  fast 
acquiring  had  raised  up  against  him  a  host  of  ene- 
mies in  his  own  profession,  and  that  the  celebrated 
critic  Hazlitt  by  a  course  of  persistent  ridicule  had 
successfully  conspired  with  them  to  drive  him  from 
his  position  soon  after  Miss  0'jN"eil  had  left  the 
stage."  Mr.  Conway  being  of  a  retiring  and  very 
sensitive  nature  suddenly  and  spontaneously  resigned 
in  disgust  his  situation  as  an  actm'  with  a  good  salary 
upon  the  London  stage,  and  accepted  that  of  a 
pi'omjpter  at  the  Hay  market  theatre,  until  he 
resolved  to  withdraw  altogether  from  the  turmoil 
and  cabala  of  the  London  theatres,  and  come  over 
professionally  to  the  United  States.  Mr.  Conway 
was  well  received  in  ^ew  York,  and  also  in  Phila- 
delphia and  Boston,  and  for  a  season  or  two  was 
respectably  without  being  at  any  time  greatly 
attractive.  His  most  approved  parts  were  Hamlet, 
Coriolanus,  Cato,  Jaffier  in  Venice  Prese'i'^ed  and 
Lord  Townly  in  The  Provoked  Husband. 

Mr.  Conway  was  a  very  tall  man,  stooped  a  little 
in  the  shoulders  and  had  a  large  foot,  the  heel  of 
which,  being  habitually  put  first  to  the  ground  in 
stepping,  made  his  tread  of  the  stage  rather  un- 
seemly ;  otherwise  his  proportions,  though  inclined 
to  the  colossal,  were  good ;  he  was  remarkably  clas- 
sic in  his  style  and  read  Hamlet  with  nicety  and 
strict  propriety,  and  evidently  had  a  good  idea  of 
the  character  ;  its  melancholy  and  morbid  sensitive- 
ness were  rendered  very  prominent,  but  he  lacked 


124  ACTOES  OF  UAMLET. 

the  occasional  liglitness  and  gaiety  recpired  by  tlie 
satire  and  also  the  warmth  necessary  for  the  spirited 
parts ;  his  chief  defect  conseqnently  was  a  heavi- 
ness, with  occasional  monotony.  His  Cato  and 
Goriolanics  I  liked  best  of  all  his  performances  seen 
by  me  in  onr  country. 

About  the  year  1820,  Mr.  Conway  resolved  to 
cpit  the  stage  and  study  Divinity ;  and  about  three 
years  thereafter,  meeting  with  some  j)ersonal  oppo- 
sition from  the  then  Bishop  (Ilobart)  of  Kew  York, 
'^froin  the  fact  of  his  having  heen  an  actor^'^  and 
whilst  on  his  voyage  to  Savannah  for  the  purpose  of 
obtaining  of  Bishop  White  there,  leave  to  "take 
orders  in  the  church,"  in  a  sudden  fit  of  despondency 
of  a  fine  afternoon  when  his  fellow  passengers  were 
below  at  dinner,  Mr.  Conway  jumped  from  the  deck 
of  the  ship  into  the  sea  ofi'  Charleston  Bar,  and, 
refusing  to  avail  himself  of  the  means  thrown  over- 
board to  save  him,  was  drowned. 


THOMAS  S.  IIAMBLIK. 

New  York,  1825. 

Me.  Hamblin  was  in  height  above  the  ordinary 
stature  of  men,  and  his  frame  was  more  bony  than 
fleshy  ;  his  head  was  remarkable  for  its  covering  by 
a  shock  of  thick  and  curly  dark-brown  hair ;  his  nose 
was  high  and  thick,  and  long  like  his  visage ;  his 


ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET.  125 

voice  husky  ;  his  breathing  asthmatic ;  his  manner 
stiff  and  formal ;  his  eyes  were  of  a  dark  hazel, 
small,  sunken,  and  set  very  close  to  each  other  and 
not  either  penetrating  or  effective,  and  his  other 
facial  features  were  more  rigid  than  plaatic. 

Mr.  Ilamblin  was  announced  "  from  Drury  Lane, 
London,"  where  he  had  held  for  a  season  or  two  a 
respectable  but  subordinate  situation  in  that  Com- 
pany. Rumor,  however,  said  that  "  upon  some 
recent  occasion  he  had  obtained  an  opportunity  to 
act  Hamlet  at  the  Haymarket,  ■s\here  the  audience 
received  his  performance  with  great  favor,  and  re- 
garded it  as  a  very  respectable  copy  of  John  Kem- 
hlii'^^from  lohicJi  it  a^ppeared  to  have  leen  studiecV 
Mr.  Hamblin's  ideas  of  the  character  were  strictly 
conventional.  lie  was  always  noisy  without  pas- 
sion, and  always  seemed  to  me  not  unlike  a  piece  of 
animated  machinery — incapable  of  any  spontaneous 
impulse.  Mr.  Hamblin,  however,  had  made  him- 
self familiar  with  all  the  mechanism  of  tragic  art  in 
the  Kemble  school ;  and  with  his  tall  figure,  which 
he  costumed  to  much  advantage,  as  Shakespeare's 
Brutus  and  Goriolanus^  and  adapted  to  such  artifi- 
cial bearing  as  has  become  consonant  with  our 
modern  ideas  of  the  manner  of  those  ancient 
Komans,  Mr.  Hamblin  acquired  and  maintained 
many  years  a  respectable  stand  among  the  trage- 
dians of  the  city  of  l^&w  York. 


126  ACTORS   OF  HAMLET. 


EDMUND   KEAN. 

New   Yo7%  1826 — the  year  of  his  second  and  last 
advent  to  the  United  States  of  America. 

Of  all  the  attempts  to  act  Hamlet  whicli  I  have 
seen,  Mr.  Keau's  pleased  me  most.  He  was  a  little 
below  the  middle  stature,  and  not  as  near  the  ideal 
"  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form"  in  person 
as  some  of  his  competitors,  though  he  had  rather  a 
compact  and  not  disproportioned  nor  ill-formed 
figure  ;  but  his  face  beamed  with  intelligence,  and 
its  muscles  were  plastic  and  suggestive  of  the  pas- 
sions ;  his  eyes  were  black,  large,  brilliant,  and 
penetrating,  and  remarkable  for  the  shortness  of 
their  upper  lid,  which  discovered  a  clearly-defined 
line  of  white  above  the  ball,  rendering  their  effect 
when  fixed  upon  an  object  very  searching ;  his 
action  and  "  gesticulation,  though  ever  easy  and 
natural,  were  generally  quick  and  energetic,  and 
very  earnest-like  ;  his  style  in  colloquy  was  "  fami- 
liar but  by  no  means  vulgar :"  it  conformed  to  the 
dignity  of  the  occasion,  and  was  most  signally  con- 
served in  the  last  scene  of  John  Howard  Payne's 
play,  where,  as  Lucius  Junius  Brutus^  the  Tribune^ 
he  struggles  w^ith  the  nature  of  the  father  and  con- 
demns his  son,  and  himself  gives  the  signal  for  the 
axe  of  the  executioner ;  his  manner,  indeed,  tlirough- 
out  the  character,  indicated  the  soul  of  the  patri- 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  127 

ciaii  unalloyed  by  that  of  the  plebeian ;  his  voice, 
when  raised  or  strained,  was  harsh  and  dissonant, 
but  in  level  sj^eaking,  and  especially  in  poetic  mea- 
sure, its  undertones  were  charming,  musical,  and 
undulating  ;  verily,  the  ensemble  of  Kean's  physical 
features  was  well  adapted  to  depict  the 

"  flash  and  outbreak  of  a  fiery  mind." 


In  Hamlefs  advice  •  to  the  players  and  in  the 
strictly  declamatory  portions  of  the  character,  Mr. 
Kean  did  not  particularly  excel,  but  he  seemed  to 
me  to  have  inspired  and  more  ably  to  illustrate  the 
soul  of  Hamlet  than  any  actor  whom  I  have  seen  in 
the  part ;  its  intellectuality  and  sensitiveness  were 
wrought  into  transparent  prominency  ;  every  parti- 
cle of  its  satire  was  given  with  extraordinary  pun- 
gency ;  its  sentiment  was  upon  each  occasion  very 
impressively  uttered,  and  the  melancholy  was  plain- 
tively-toned and  sympathy- winning ;  the  action  was 
free  and  natural  and  never  ungraceful,  the  passion 
heart-stirring,  and  the  poetry  was  read  with  correct 
emphasis  and  a  nice  ear  to  rhythmical  measure  : 
yet,  Kean's  Hmnlet,  which  surprised  and  enraptured 
me,  I  discovered,  to  my  surprise,  chagrin,  and  vexa- 
tion, was  not  j^articulaTly  appreciated  by  the  most 
intelligent  of  our  JSTew  York  audiences.  Mr.  Kean's 
most  popular  and  invariably-attractive  j^^i't  was 
Richard  the  Third  ;  but  his  Othello  was  a  far  more 
exquisite  and  intellectual,  as  also  meritorious  per- 
formance ;  his  Sir  Giles  Over-reach  a  more  terribly- 


128  ACTOES  OF  HAMLET. 

energetic,  and  his  ShylocJc  his  most  unexceptionably- 
perfect  character. 

One  of  Kean's  most  enthusiastic  admirers  was 
Lord  Byron.  He  pronounced  "  Kean's  third  act  of 
Othello  the  perfection  of  tragic  art,"  and  said  that 
"  acting  could  go  no  farther."  His  Lordship,  too, 
is  said  to  have  remarked  that  he  "  pitied  those  who 
were  not  near  enouo^h — as  he  had  made  it  a  rule  to 
be  (seated  in  the  third  row  of  the  pit) — to  see  the 
constant  alteriiations  and  hye-play  of  Kean^s  counte- 
nance'^'' during  the  dialogue. 

After  Lord  Byron  had  left  England,  and  reached 
Italy,  he  sent  Kean  a  snuif-box,  with  the  following 
lines : 

''  Thou  art  the  Sun's  bright  cliikl  I 

The  genius  that  irradiates  thy  mind 

Caught  all  its  purity  and  light  from  Heaven. 

Thine  is  the  task  with  mastery  most  perfect 

To  bind  the  passions  caj)tive  in  thy  train. 

Each  crystal  tear  that  slumbers  in  the  depth 

Of  feeling's  fountain,  doth  obey  thy  call. 

There's  not  a  joy  or  sorrow  mortals  prove 

A  feeling  to  humanity  allied 

But  tribute  of  allegiance  owes  to  thee. 

The  shrine  thou  worshippest  is  Nature's  self, 

The  only  altar  Genius  deigns  to  seek : 

Thine  offering — a  bold  and  burning  mind, 

Whose  impulse  guides  thee  to  the  realms  of  fame, 

Where  crown'd  with  well  earn'd  laurels  all  thine  own, 

I  herald  thee  to  Immortality." 

I  happened  to  be  in  London  and  was  in  the  stage 
box  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  the  evenins:  of  the 


ACTORS   OF  HAMLET.  129 

25tli  of  March,  1S33.  The  phaj  was  OtMlo.  Mr. 
Kean,  who  was  announced  to  act  The  Moor^  had  been 
so  advertised  recently,  and  having  proved  too  unwell 
to  appear,  fearing  another  disappointment,  compara- 
tively few  of  the  admirers  of  this  "  the  greatest  thea- 
trical genius  of  the  Age,"  had  confidence  enough  in 
the  rej)ort  of  his  convalescence  and  ability  to  act 
again,  to  attend  the  theatre  on  this  occasion,  though 
it  offered  them  an  extraordinary  inducement,  viz. 
"  his  son,  Mr.  Charles  Kean,  would  for  the  first  time 
in  London  appear  with  him  on  the  stage  and  sustain 
the  character  of  lago  to  his  father's  Othello P  The 
curtain  rose  to  an  evidently  intelligent  but  only 
about  a  half-filled  auditorium. 

When  Kean  the  father  and  Charles  Kean  his  son, 
as  Othello  and  lago — entered  upon  the  second  scene 
of  the  tragedy,  they  were  greeted  with  vociferous 
manifestations  of  w^elcome  which  continued  until 
each  had  reached  his  respective  stage-position,  right 
and  left  centre,  and  had  turned  and  faced  and  bowed 
once  to  the  audience,  whereupon  the  Pit  and  Boxes 
rose  simultaneously ;  the  gentlemen  cheering  and 
clapping  their  hands,  and  the  ladies  waving  their 
handkerchiefs  ;  Mr.  Kean,  who  was  on  the  left  side 
of  the  centre,  seemed  to  appreciate  highly  the  com- 
pliments, and  grasping  his  son's  left  within  his  own 
right  hand  advanced  firmly  to  the  footlights  and 
gracefully  presented  his  son  Charles,  by  a  gentle 
wave  of  the  other  hand,  and  then  a  grateful  smile, 
and  their  united  and  modest  obeisance.    The  whole 

6* 


180  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

audience  seemed  wild  with  delight  at  this  little  inci- 
dent, and  doubly  redoubled  their  significant  expres- 
sions of  enthusiasm  at  the  occurrence,  and  the  father 
and  son  were  for  an  uncommonly  long  interval  com- 
l^elled  to  bow  their  acknowledgments  accordingly 
before  they  were  allowed  to  return  to  their  relative 
stage-])ositions,  and  resume  their  respective  charac- 
ters and  open  the  dialogue  of  the  scene. 

Mr.  Kean  appeared  physically  feeble  and  indis- 
posed to  make  any  special  efforts  even  where  he  had 
long  been  wont  in  the  first  and  second  acts,  and  I 
inferred  therefrom  that  he  had  not  confidence  in  the 
extent  of  his  recovered  strength,  and  was  reserving 
that  which  he  thought  he  could  command  for  the 
first  exigency  in  the  third  act. 

The  same  feebleness,  however,  continued  manifest 
to  every  one  until  he  uttered  that  famous  apostro- 
phe. Act  5,  Sg.  1,  "  Now  for  ever  farewell,"  &c. 

I  had  often  heard  him  deliver  this  favorite  apo- 
stroj^he,  and  seldom  receive  less  than  three  or  four 
rounds  of  aj)23lause.  On  this  occasion  the  applause 
was  prolonged  and  renewed,  and  seemed  to  occupy 
at  least  a  minute's  time  by  the  watch.  I  never 
before  had  heard  him  utter  the  words  with  half  the 
intense  and  heart-rending  efloct,  and  I  remarked  to 
my  companion  in  the  stage  box  : — "  Poor  fellow  !  I 
fear  that  a  consciousness  of  the  applicability  to  his 
own  individual  self  of  '  Othello^ s  occupation's  goneP 
has  unnerved  him.  I  now  realize  the  great  critic 
Ilazlitt's  observation  that  '  this  apostrophe  and  its 


ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET.  13  i 

termination' — as  Kcan  delivered  it  in  Lis  earlier 
days — '  lingered  npon  the  ear  like  an  eclio  of  tlie 
last  sounds  of  departing  Hope.' " 

During  this  long  protracted  applause,  Mr.  Kean 
stood  motionless,  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  chin  rest- 
ing upon  his  chest.  "When  it  had  quite  subsided, 
and  some  fifteen  or  twenty  seconds  of  time  had 
elapsed,  and  Mr.  Kean  still  remained  motionless  and 
statue-like,  loud  whisperings  prevailed  among  the 
spectators — "  'Why  don't  he  proceed  ?  He  must  be 
ill  again  ?  "What  can  be  the  matter  with  him  ?" 
The  very  silence  around  him  seemed  suddenly  to 
arouse  him  to  a  sense  of  his  own  condition.  He 
raise'd  his  head  languidly,  blinked  repeatedly,  and 
turning  feebly  towards  lago  on  his  right,  instead  of 
that  articulate  vehemency  usual  with  the  words, 
Mr.  Kean  tottered  visibly  and  muttered  indistinctly 
— and  inaudibly  heyond  the  orcliestro. — "  Villain — 
be — sure  you — prove — "  here  he  hesitated  in  his 
approach  towards  lago^  but  stretched  out  both  hands 
and  ejaculated,  "  Oh,  God  !  I'm  dying  !  Speak  to 
them,  Charles !"  Whereupon  his  son  sprang  for- 
ward and  cauQ;ht  him  in  his  arms.  Several  voices 
from  the  auditorium  cried,  "  Oh,  take  him  off ! 
Send  for  a  surgeon  !"  &c.  Some  one  from  the  stage 
entrance  on  Mr.  Kean's  left  came  and  assisted,  and 
with  either  arm  resting  upon  those  two  persons,  Mr. 
Kean  partly  stepped  or  was  borne  out  of  sight  of 
the  audience  whilst  bowing  his  head  feebly  in  token 
of  his  sense  of  their  kind  indulgence. 


182  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

The  curtain  was  dro2)j)ed,  and  after  a  few  mo- 
ments Mr.  Bartley,  the  stage-manager,  came  for- 
ward and  observed  that  though  Mr.  Kean  was  faint, 
he  lioped  he  might  be  restored  by  a  surgeon  who 
had  been  sent  for,  and  be  able  to  finish  his  part,  and 
craved  their  indulgence  accordingly  for  fifteen 
minutes.  When  the  time  had  expired,  Mr.  Bartley 
re-appeared,  and  regretted  to  inform  the  audience 
that  the  surgeon  had  pronounced  Mr.  Kean  utterly 
incapable  of  resuming  his  part,  which  Afr.  Warde 
would  undertake  with  the  consent  of  the  audience 
to  finish  in  Mr.  Kean's  stead,  and  the  play  was  con- 
tinued to  its  conclusion  without  further  interruption. 

Mr.  Kean  was  carried  to  the  nearest  hotel,  and 
after  a  few  days  removed  to  his  home  at  Kichmond, 
where  he  lingered  about  three  wrecks,  and  expired 
15  April,  1833. 

CHARLES   MAYNE  YOUNG. 

Covent  Garden  Theatre^  London^  1827. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  be  pleased  with  Mr. 
Young's  Hamlet^  as  a  whole.  He  had  a  full,  com- 
pact, and  a  well-proportioned  figure,  a  little  above 
the  medium  height,  an  intellectual  cast  of  counte- 
nance, with  straight,  dark  hair.  His  features  were 
not  remarkable,  unless  for  a  Roman  nose,  which, 
though  well  formed,  was  in  length  a  little  beyond 
its  pro]3ortion,  and  contributed  to  make  the  face 


ACTORS   OF   HAMLET.  133 

rather  fixed  and  inflexible  ;  but  his  voice  was  full 
and  of  great  compass,  and  he  seemed  to  be  aware 
and  proud  of  it,  inasmncli  as  he  would  frequently 
seize  occasion  to  practise  it  in  a  sort  of  clianting 
when  delivering  poetry  ;  his  articulation  and  decla- 
mation were  good,  though  a  slight  lisp  could  occa- 
sionally be  detected  in  his  speech ;  his  action  was 
easy  and  graceful,  indeed  very  gentleman-like  ;  his 
readings  were  sensible,  and  generally  accorded  with 
my  taste,  and  his  conception  of  the  character  of 
Hamlet  seemed  pretty  just  in  the  main — though  I 
am  bound  to  take  particular  exception  to  Mr. 
Young's  marked  hauteur  in  receiving  the  players, 
and  to  his  dictatorial  bearing  whilst  conversing  with 
them  ;  his  utterance  especially  of,  "  Com'st  thou  to 
beard  me  in  Denmark  ?"  was  characterized  by  a 
tone  of  rebuke  instead  of  that  of  a  jocose  and  con- 
descending familiarity,  such  as  Hamlet  would  be 
likely  to  use  in  welcoming  "  the  tragedians  of  the 
city  in  whom  he  was  wont  to  take  such  delight,  and 
who  had  come  expressly  to  oflTer  him  their  service." 
Mr.  Young's  general  demeanor  in  the  part,  how- 
ever, might  be  said  to  conform  more  to  the  conven- 
tional idea  of  what  is  termed  '^ princely^''  than  did 
Mr.  Kean's,  but  it  did  not  indicate  as  open  a  nature 
nor  as  innate  a  nobility  of  soul  as  Kean's  manner 
conveyed,  and  notwithstanding  that  Mr.  Young  had 
greater  advantage  in  personal  appearance,  and  was 
more  classic  in  his  style,  the  impulse  of  Mr.  Kean's 
genius   gained   for  him,  in   my   esteem  and  com- 


134  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

parison,  the  transcendency  in  the  performance  of 
JJamlet. 

Mr.  Young,  however,  was  generally  a  most  admi- 
rable tragic-artist.  I  saw  with  unmixed  pleasure 
and  satisfaction  his  King  John^  Brutus  (in  Julius 
C(Bsar\  and  his  Mr.  Beverly  in  the  tragedy  of  Tlie 
Gamester.  His  Icigo  (1827)  was  very  highly  esti- 
mated by  the  London  public,  and  its  rendering  was 
indeed  very  artistio  /  but,  though  I  could  not  but 
admire  Mr.  Toung's  talent  in  filling  his  particularly 
gay,  bold  faced,  and  broadly  conceived  outline,  my 
judgment  resisted  the  conviction  of  the  justness  of 
his  peculiar  notions  of  the  character.  'Tis  true, 
his  jollity  of  manner  created  much  laughter,  and 
was  greeted  with  loud  and  frequent  applause,  and 
he  capitally  worked  up  his  points  to  his  theory,  and 
artfully  hid  its  unsoundness ;  and  applatcse  is  the 
meed,  the  goal,  the  capital  every  aspiring  and  un- 
scrupulous actor  seeks  :  because  it  is  generally  con- 
sidered the  test  of  merit,  and  whoever  has  been 
able  to  obtain  repeatedly  and  continuously  the 
greatest  quantity  in  any  j)opular  character,  has 
seldom  failed  to  become  its  most  attractive  and  con- 
sequently best  remunerated  representative.  An 
actor,  however,  may  occasionally  succeed  in  sur- 
prising the  senses,  suspending  the  judgment  of  the 
few  who  thi7iJc  in  a  theatre,  or  in  confounding  their 
faculties,  whilst  he  secures  the  ready  applause  of 
the  excited  many  who  do  not  stop  to  consider  the 
premises  or  might  discover  that    the    actor  was 


ACTOKS   OF  HAMLET.  135 

sbamefallj  pen^erting  his  author's  most  obvious 
design  ;  but  the  actor  in  the  meantime  lias  become 
assured  of  his  bootj,  and  revels  in  a  demonstration 
in  his  favor  which  will  not  be  restrained  and  cannot 
be  recalled,  and  also  in  the  consoling  conclusion 
that  should  any  of  his  victims  detect  the  actor's  dis- 
Jionesty  in  acquiring  his  own  inconsiderate  approba- 
tion, such  an  one  would  surely  lose  any  vexatious 
sense  of  his  robbery,  in  admiration  of  the  advoii/riess 
of  such  moral  thief. 

Mr.  Young  made  lago  seem  constitutionally  gay 
and  lightsome,  and  too  heartily  joyous  in  certain  por- 
tions of  his  dialogue,  and  not  apparently  wretched 
enough  in  particular  soliloquies,  where  he  expresses 
pent  up  grievances,  the  cause  real  and  imaginary  of 
his  secret  but  malignant  hatred  to  the  Moor — for  one 
complaining  of  hating  that  "  which  like  a  poisonous 
mineral  gnawed  his  inwards,"  and  of  course  had 
cankered  all  joy  in  his  soul  or  any  sincere  inclina- 
tion for  gaiety  and  merriment.  lago  should  indeed 
assume  a  blunt  but  cynical  humor;  certainly  not 
provocative  in  the  acting  of  as  much  mirth  among 
the  audience  as  it  would  be  if  rendered  in  a  jolly 
manner,  though  much  more  consistent  with  the 
nature  and  the  circumstances  of  the  character ;  but 
these  nice  and  delicate  distinctions  are  very  difficult 
for  an  actor  to  signalize  intelligibly  or  render  trans- 
parent to  an  audience,  yet  are  worthy  of  an  artist's 
studious  efforts.  lago'^s  manner  should  naturally 
differ  when  alone  with  either  Othello^  or  Cassia^  or 


136  ACTOES  OF  HAMLET. 

Moderigo^  or  in  liis  general  intercourse  with  those 
around  him,  and  appear  assumed  accordingly ;  but, 
in  his  soliloquies^  the  actor  should  portray  his  real 
and  absolute  misery  and  sufferings  without  disguise  ; 
they  constitute  the  key  which  unlocks  and  exposes 
to  the  audience  the  secret  motives  of  his  envious, 
jealous,  cruel,  wretched,  and  revengeful  nature,  and 
of  his  mean,  base,  dishonorable,  hypocritical,  and 
detestable  actions.  Mr.  Young  neglected  to  disj^lay 
in  strong  colors  the  rancor  at  heart  and  its  original 
complex  causes,  leaving  his  villany  to  seem  too  gra- 
tuitous and  his  humor  too  easy  and  spontaneous 
instead  of  forced  and  unnatural. 

A  few  days  after  I  had  seen  Mr.  Young  perform 
Brutus  in  Jtdius  Cmsar^  I  met  that  gentleman  at 
dinner  and  took  occasion  to  express  to  him  the 
effect  his  acting  that  part  had  had  upon  me.  I 
observed  that  his  manner,  after  the  quarrel  with 
Gassms  had  been  ended  and  when  Cassius  said — "  I 
did  not  think  you  could  have  been  so  angry !" — of 
slowly  turning  and  facing  Cassius  and  in  a  melan- 
choly tone  uttering — "  Oh,  Cassius^  I  am  sick  of 
many  griefs!"  and  then  slowly  approaching  him, 
taking  one  hand  within  his  own  and  resting  the 
other  on  Gassius^s  shoulder  and  pausing  a  little  and 
fixing  his  gaze  upon  the  face  of  Cassius^  and  then 
with  a  faltering  voice,  and  a  suffused  eye  and  chok- 
ing utterance,  which  seemed  to  me  to  indicate  that 
he  was  nerving  himself  in  order  to  impart  without 
emotion  a  heart-rending  fact  to  one  whose  sympa- 


ACTOES  OF  HAMLET.  137 

tliies  would  be  strongly  moved  and  his  shock  would 
else  re-act  upon  himself  and  shake  his  own  fortitude 
before  he  added — ^'Portia — is — deadP'^  and  closed 
his  eves,  had  so  overcome  my  sensibilities,  as  his  audi- 
tor and  spectator  in  the  stage-box  of  Covent  Garden, 
that  I  involuntarily  fell  backwards  among  those 
behind  me — my  heart  seeming  to  heave  into  my 
throat  and  stop  my  breath,  and,  sobbing  audibly,  I 
became  for  a  few  moments  quite  a  spectacle  to  those 
immediately  about  me,  and  had  felt  quite  ashamed 
of  my  own  weakness  afterwards. 

Mr.  Young  thanked  me  for  the  compliment  I  had 
paid  to  his  own  a7%  but  modestly  remarked  that 
"he  deserved  no  credit  for  its  original  conception^ 
inasmuch  as  he  had  taken  it  from  the  late  Mr.  Kem- 
ble's  performance  of  Brutus^  whilst  he  himself  had 
frequently  acted  Cassius  with  him." 


WILLIAM  CHAELES  MACEEADT 

ds  Hamlet^  Neio  Yo'rlc^  1826  and  1843. 

Mr.  Macready,  in  propria  persona,  minutely  sur- 
veyed, is  above  the  middle  height ;  his  port  rather 
stiffly  erect ;  his  figure,  not  stout  but  very  straight, 
and  at  the  hips  quite  the  reverse  of  en  l)on  point  / 
his  ordinary  or  natural  gait  is  not  dignified  ;  he  steps 
short  and  quick  with  a  sj^ringy  action  of  the  knee 
joints,  which  sometimes  trundling  his  stiff  bust — as 
in  a  rush  from  the  centre  to  a  corner  of  the  stage — 


138  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

reminds  one  of  the  recoil  of  a  cannon  npon  its  car- 
riage ;  in  his  slow  and  measured  tread  of  the  stage, 
he  seems  somewhat  affected :  he  sags  his  body  alter- 
nately on  either  leg,  whilst  his  head  waves  from  side 
to  side  to  balance  it :  his  head,  however,  is  not  nn- 
proportioned,  and  his  hair  is  of  a  dark  brown ;  his 
face,  though  occasionally  lighted  up  by  a  pleasing 
smile,  can  hardly  have  beauty  predicated  of  it :  his 
forehead  is  good,  but  his  'brow  does  not — 

^'like  to  a  title  leaf 


Foretell  the  nature  of  a  tragic  volume ;" 

being  rather  high,  vacant,  and  irregularly  arched 
though  not  inflexible  ;  his  eyes  are  blue,  of  good 
size,  widely  set  and  tolerably  effective  in  his  acting ; 
though  he  has  a  trick  of  turning  them  upward  rather 
too  frequently  and  dropping  his  chin  upon  his  breast; 
half  covering  the  eye-balls  with  the  upper  lids  and 
leaving  the  whites  below  well-defined,  looks  too 
much  aghast  when  he  would  express  reverential 
awe  ;  his  nose  is  of  ordinary  length,  rather  low  and 
straight  from  his  forehead  down  to  beneath  its 
bridge,  where  it  abruptly  rises ;  his  mouth  is  not 
remarkable  and  his  chin  is  prominent ;  his  voice  is 
tolerably  strong,  but  without  volume  or  much  com- 
pass ;  when  sunk  it  is  sometimes  monotonous,  and 
when  raised  often  becomes  quite  reedy ;  it  rarely 
breaks  by  accident,  but  does  for  effect  occasionally 
by  intention  in  the  course  of  his  Richelieu  and  also 
in  the  utterance  of  Lear's  curse ;  his  articulation  is 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  139 

generally  distinct  and  Lis  enunciation  clear  and 
pure,  excepting  some  rare  specimens  of  what  seem 
the  remains  of  an  early  or  slight  L'ish  brogue ;  his 
legs  are  rather  long  and  thin  by  nature^  but  being 
straight  are  proportioned  on  the  stage  by  his  art^  and 
his  arms  are  more  bony  than  brawny ;  his  actions 
are  generally  formal  and  sometimes  more  angular 
than  graceful ;  many  of  his  attitudes  are  good,  but 
he  has  a  habit  of  sinking  his  body  by  bending  both 
knees,  as  though  his  breast  was  o'erfraught  with  a 
heavy  weight  of  matter  which  he  was  impatient  to 
discharge  or  utter  loudly  ;  a  favorite  station  of  his  is 
formed  by  reclining  his  weight  upon  one  leg  whilst 
his  body  is  steadied  by  the  other  leg  dragging 
extendedly  behind  and  resting  upon  its  toes:  one 
posture  of  his  is  particularly  uneasy  and  ungraceful, 
not  to  say  ]3ainful,  to  behold :  in  his  gladiatorial 
combats,  when  preparing  to  give  or  receive  a  blow, 
he  throws  his  head  and  chest  so  far  backward  as  to 
make  himself  appear  in  danger  of  losing  his  equili- 
brium :  but,  with  all  Mr.  Macready's  personal  dis- 
advantages, his  discerning  mind  and  untiring  indus- 
try have  so  disciplined  his  physique,  that,  "  take 
him  for  all  in  all,"  I  consider  him  by  far  the  most 
intellectual  and  generally  eflective  actor  of  the 
time  ;  indeed,  I  doubt  whether  stage-history  can 
furnish  another  instance  of  such  a  signal  triumph  of 
Mind  over  the  impediments  involved  in  a  very 
imperfect  physical  material.  He  seems,  when  form- 
ing his  style  of  acting,  to  have  taken  as  models  and 


140  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

compounded  the  classical  dignity  of  John  Kemble 
with  the  intense  earnestness  and  colloquial  fami- 
liarity of  Edmund  Kean. 

The  difference  between  Kean  and  Macready 
struck  me  to  be  this : — Kean  seemed  to  have  far 
greater  genius  for  the  stage  than  Macready,  and 
having  once  fully  imbibed  the  spirit  and  carefully 
committed  to  memory  the  words  of  his  author, 
appeared  not  to  have  bestowed  much  forethouglit  in 
his  closet  upon  the  precise  way  in  which  he  would 
act  it ;  but,  aware  of  his  usual  power  of  self-abandon- 
ment, risked  the  event  before  his  audience,  trusting 
mainly  to  his  ready  imjpulse  to  inspire  him  with  all 
the  other  requisites  to  produce  effect.  Kean's  early 
and  irregular  life,  too,  favors  the  conjecture  that  in 
such  manner,  when,  amidst  poverty  and  obscurity, 
after  performing  his  characters  in  the  English  Pro- 
vinces, his  genius  was  sometimes  quickened  by  his 
natural  ardor,  and  at  others  by  the  bowl  of  Bacchus, 
and  he  oi*iginated  and  accumulated  on  such  occa- 
sions, many  of  those  bold,  novel,  and  splendid  points 
which  afterwards  w^ere  transplanted  in  the  metropo- 
lis and  electrified  the  London  public.  Macready^  by 
his  acting,  impressed  me  with  the  idea  of  one  who 
had  begun  secimdum  artem^  by  reading  and  ponder- 
ing well  his  author,  formed  his  corporate  conception 
of  the  entire  character  he  would  j^lay,  dissected  and 
elaborated  its  points,  and  then  had  recourse  to  his 
utmost  art  to  re-unite  and  incorporate  the  several 
particles  into  a  unique,  complete,  and  harmonious 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  Ml 

impersonation,  but  never  permitted  himself  to  appear 
in  a  part  before  an  audience  until  it  had  been  long 
practised  in  his  closet  and  sufficiently  rehearsed 
upon  the  stage  to  become  almost  second-nature  to 
him ;  upon  sucli  an  hypothesis,  his  pictorial  and 
mechanical  portions  having  been  duly  considered  by 
himself  and  thoroughly  understood  by  the  corps  of 
performers  employed  to  support  his  scenes  in  the 
play,  his  art^  not  impulse,  his  reliance,  and  the  degree 
of  earnestness  only  left  to  his  nature  to  acquire 
whilst  acting,  Macready  could  differ  little  in  the 
quality  of  his  performance  of  the  same  character 
though  frequently  repeated :  whilst  Kean^  who 
depended  more  upon  the  excitability  of  his  nature 
and  the  inspiration  of  the  occasion  to  arouse  his 
impulses  and  to  aid  him  before  an  audience,  being 
consequently  ever  more  or  less  in  the  vein,  was 
sometimes  dull,  flat,  or  uneven,  but  at  others  was 
gay,  energetic,  or  impetuous,  and  then  his  genius 
often  became  highly  inflamed  and  burst  like  a 
meteor ;  its  sparks  seeming  to  ignite  the  sympathe- 
tic bosom  of  every  spectator,  until  pit,  boxes,  and 
gallery  reflected  one  grand  blaze  of  enthusiasm. 

It  was  in  reference  to  one  of  these  occasions, 
namely,  the  closing  scene  of  his  first  performance  of 
Bit  Giles  Over-reach  (in  A  New  Way  to  Pay  Old 
DeUs,)  at  Drury  Lane  (181^,) 

"  When  all  were  fir'd— " 


that  upon  returning  home  immediately  afterwards 


14:2  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

in  his  carriage,  and  without  waiting  to  change  his 
stage-costume  as  Sir  Giles^  Kean  proudly  related  to 
his  impatient  and  expectant  wife  the  victory  just 
obtained  over  a  whole  theatre,  crammed,  as  it  was 
that  night,  with  literati,  nobility,  and  gentry,  and 
among  which,  of  course,  figured  his  new  but 
charmed  friend,  enthusiastic  professional  admirer, 
and  most  zealous  and  distinguished  patron,  the  Earl 
of  Essex — the  foremost  of  the  several  nobles  con- 
spicuous then  for  their  desire  to  cultivate  a  social 
intimacy  with  "  the  brightest  genius  "  of  the  stage. 
Mrs.  Kean  seemed  still  unsatisfied,  because  her  hus- 
band had  neglected  even  to  mention  the  name  of 
an  acquaintance  of  which  she  was  most  proud,  and 
restlessly  interjected : — 

"  But,  Ned,  dear  !  what  did  Lord  Essex  say  ?  " 

Kean^s  abrupt  and  emphatic,  but  very  significant 
response  was — 

"  Oh,   d n  Lord  Essex  ! — The  Pit    rose    at 

me  ! ! " 

Macready's  Bichelieu  I  regard,  as  a  whole,  his 
most  artistical  assumption  of  character  :  his  Werner^ 
in  his  own  adaptation  of  Byron's,  is  truly  sui  generis^ 
a  masterpiece  of  that  class  of  tragedy ;  but,  though 
it  may  be  termed  "  comparatively  faultless,"  it 
reflects  less  credit  upon  him  as  an  artist ;  because, 
the  manner  demanded  by  the  character  assimilates 
so  closely  to  his  own  natural  style,  that  it  requires 
but  little  if  any  degree  of  assumption  in  that  respect. 
Mr.  Macready  being  ''  elder  and  abler  "  than  myself, 


*  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  143 

gr^at  deference  is  due  from  me  to  his  discernment 
and  judgment  or  conclusions ;  therefore,  I  have 
reconsidered  my  own  conception  of  Hamlet^  and, 
finding  that  I  cannot  overcome  my  original  objec- 
tions to  many  portions  of  that  representation,  I  will 
venture  to  record  the  following  reasons. 

Mr.  Macready  continues,  after  Ilamlefs  opening 
scene,  to  weep  and  whine  too  much,  and  resorts  to 
his  handkerchief  too  often ;  it  is  true  that  the 
memory  of  his  father,  then  "  not  two  months  dead," 
may  keep  open  "  the  fruitful  river  in  the  eye," 
amongst  other  "  forms,  modes,  shows  of  grief," 
which  he  describes,  but  Hainlet  claims  to  "have 
that  within  which  passeth  show ;"  therefore  an 
actor  should  observe  a  nice  discretion  in  his  weep- 
ing :  because,  tears  are  a  rare  relief  in  nature  to 
one  who  has 

"  something  in  his  soul, 

O'er  which  his  melancholy  sits  on  brood ;  " 

besides,  with  dejected  patients  in  real  life  weeping 
is  an  end  and  an  attaimnent  studiously  sought  by 
their  physicians ;  because,  if  it  can  be  superinduced 
copioiosly^  it  is  known  to  relieve  the  o'erfraught 
heart,  and  to  furnish  the  readiest  antidote  to  "  the 
poison  of  deep  grief." 

Mr.  Macready  moves  about  the  stage  too  often 
and  too  briskl}^,  and  in  too  clerklike  a  gait  for  one 
of  a  princely  education,  leisurely  habits,  and  a  con- 
templative turn  of  mind  ;  his  manner,  also,  is  gene- 


144  ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET. 

rally  too  luirried  and  restless,  and  lie  imparts  to  tlic 
features  -of  liis  countenance  a  spasmodic  expression 
in  many  of  their  variations ;  indeed,  sometimes 
their  transitions  are  as  sudden  and  their  contractions 
as  violent  as  though  the  muscles  of  his  face  were 
acted  upon  by  a  galvanic  battery ;  his  limbs,  too, 
seem  incapable  of  any  just  medium  between  mode- 
rate exercise  and  a  paroxysm  of  action  ; — these  vio- 
lent contractions  and  expansions  occasionally  may 
serve  to  indicate  a  very  nervous  temperament,  but, 
if  too  frequently  practised,  destroy  a  chance  to 
depict  neatly  the  variety  of  delicate  lights  and 
shades  which  belong  to  a  mind  naturally  sensitive 
and  meditative  ;  in  speaking  he  seldom  used  his 
left  arm,  but  kept  it  under  his  cloak ;  in  short,  his 
manner  generally  wanted  ease,  was  seldom  graceful, 
and  never  exhibited  the  repose  characteristic  of  a 
philosoiDhic  mind. 

His  arrangement  of  the  scenes  wherein  Hamlet 
appears  denoted  generally  much  forethought  and  a 
nice  taste ;  but  amongst  the  exceptions  I  would 
instance  his  mode  of  rendering — 

"  Arm'd,  say  you  ?  " — 

which,  following  next  in  the  order  of  the  text  to  the 
answer  given  to  Hamlets  previous  inquiry,  "  Hold 
you  the  watch  to-night  ? "  was  given  in  such  a 
pauseless  manner  as  at  least  to  confuse  the  auditor's 
understanding  that  Hamlefs  thoughts  had  reverted 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  145 

to  and  had  special  reference  to  the  peculiar  appear- 
ance of  the  GJhost — 

"  armed  at  point,  exactly  cap-a-pi^ ;  " 


for  example ;  after  Horatio  had  finished  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  apparition  and  attendant  circumstances, 
and  added  : — 

"  And  we  did  think  it  writ  down  in  our  duty 
To  let  you  know  it :  " 

Mr.  Macready  darted  up  the  stage,  turned  suddenly 
and  rushed  down  to  his  starting  place,  and  uttered 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  sirs,  but  this  troubles  me ;  " 

then,  standing  between  Horatio^  on  his  left  hand, 
and  Marcellus  and  Bernardo  on  his  right,  he  inquired 
of  those  two  officers — 

"  Hold  you  the  watch  to-night  ?  " 
who  reply — 

"  We  do,  my  lord." 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Macready,  without  turning  his 
face  or  changing  his  attitude,  tone  of  voice,  or 
expression  of  countenance,  or  waiting  a  single 
second  of  time,  proceeded  rapidly — 

"  Arm'd,  say  you  ? 
AU.  Arm'd,  my  lord  ! 
Ham.  From  top  to  toe  ? 

AU.  From  head  to  foot. 
Ham.  Then  saw  you  not  his  face  ?" 

7 


146  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

"Up  to  this  period,  tliese  questions  and  answers  were 
pronounced  with  the  utmost  rapidity  consistent 
with  distinct  articuhition,  and  their  more  immediate 
antecedent  having  been  "  Hold  you  the  watch  to- 
niglit?"  an  auditor,  though  well  acquainted  with 
the  text,  might  be  in  the  hurried  interim  misled  by 
such  a  manner  of  delivery  to  suppose  that  by  the 
following  interrogatory — "  Arm'd  say  you  ?" — Ham- 
let meant  to  inquire  connectedly  whether  those  who 
should  hold  the  watch  would  be  arm^d^  until  the 
closing  part  of  the  context — 

"  Then  saw  you  not  his  face  ?" 

brings  the  listener's  thoughts  necessarily  back  to 
the  Ghost,  to  whose  appearance  "  in  arms"  the  in- 
quiry refers  :  whereas,  if,  instead  of  the  manner  Mr. 
Macready  adopted,  after  addressing  the  two  soldiers 
then  on  his  right  hand  with — "  Hold  you  the  watch 
to-night  V  he  had  made  a  short  jpmise^  and  with  the 
fixed  eye  of  abstract  and  profound  consideration 
turned  his  face  from  them  towards  Horatio  standing 
at  his  left,  and  sinking  his  voice  into  a  musing  and 
an  under  tone  inquired  of  Horatio  particularly, 
"Arm'd  say  you?"  the  most  uninformed  auditor 
could  not  have  been  for  a  moment  misled  from  this 
special  reference  to  the  Ghost. 

In  the  Fii'st  Folio  and  in  the  early  Quarto  edi- 
tions, the  ansioers  to  HamleCs  particular  inquiries 
are  printed  differently ;  being  in  one  copy  ascribed 
to  "  hotli^''  and  in  another  to  "  all  y"  but,  whether 


ACTORS  OF  IIAMLET.  147 


• 


tliese  answers  properly  belong  to  the  tioo  officers 
only  or  to  all  three  wJio  were  witnesses  is  quite 
immaterial ;  because,  in  the  acting  of  the  scene  it  is 
right  and  proper  to  use  the  most  obvious  method  to 
convey  to  an  audience  and  the  spectators  the  dra- 
matist's meaning,  and  to  remove  as  far  as  possible 
any  obstacle  to  their  ready  and  perfect  comprehen- 
sion, when  it  may  be  involved  in  some  obscurity  by 
an  author's  style.  In  this  case,  however,  there  can 
arise  no  just  cause  of  any  confusion  in  a  spectator's 
understanding  if  the  actor  of  Hamlet  will  only  con- 
fine his  questions  concerning  the  Ghost  to  Horatio^ 
as  he  ought  to  do  for  the  reasons  that  Horatio  is 
Hamlefs  confidential  friend  who  has  sought  him  for 
the  express  purpose  of  communicating  these  par- 
ticulars, and  has  already  premised  that  "  tliese  gen- 
tlemen, Marcellus  and  Bernardo^^  had  stood  dumb 
from  fear  and  spoke  not  to  the  apparition  ;  the  last 
fact  being  in  itself  a  sufiicient  motive  with  Hamlet 
for  not  seeking  out  nice  particulars  from  thein  whose 
"fear-surprised  eyes"  might  render  their  report 
subject  to  his  suspicion  of  exaggeration ;  though  it 
would  be  quite  natural  that  those  soldiers  should 
join  Horatio  in  his  answers  to  questions  specially 
directed  to  him  by  Hamlet :  because  they  had  be- 
come privileged,  having  been  eye-witnesses  too  of 
the  "  dreaded  sight,"  and  also  because  they  would 
naturally  be  ambitious  of  an  opportunity  to  confirm 
such  important  information  to  one  of  so  high  rank 
as  Prince  Hamlet. 


148  ACTORS  OF  hamlj:t. 

"  His  beard  was  grizzled  ?     IsTo  ?" 

Mr.  Macready  after  "grizzled"  allowed  the  wit- 
nesses not  a  moment  for  reflection,  but  impatiently 
and  rather  comically  stammered,  "  W — n' — no  ?" 

Instead  of  the  nsual  entrance  of  the  Ghost  with 
Samlet  following,  Mr.  Macready's  arrangement  for 
their  discovery  in  relative  positions  was  new,  effec- 
tive, and  picturesque. 

"  Polonius.  Will  you  walk  out  of  the  air,  my  lord  ? 
Hamlet.  Into  my  grave  !" 

Mr.  Macready  uttered  Hcvml&Cs  reply  interroga- 
tively^ which  was  new  to  my  ear  upon  the  stage ; 
but,  though  it  is  the  punctuation  of  the  Folio  of 
1623,  I  would  prefer  that  it  should  be  given  as  an 
exclamation. 

Mr.  Macready's  style  wanted  the  philosophic  sen- 
tentiousness  requisite  for  an  harmonious  delivery  of 
the  analysis  of  "  Man  ;"  besides  which  he  adopted 
the  late  John  Kemble's  omission  of  the  indefinite 
article  "<2"  before  ^'^  man  f'  an  omission  not  war- 
ranted by  any  of  the  original  and  authentic  editions: 
the  true  text  is  when  Hamlet  would  analyse  God's 
animated  machine, 

"  What  a  piece  of  work  is  a  man  ?" 

The  article  "a"  prefixed  to  the  word  "man"  is 
essential  here,  because  Hamlet  descants  particularly 
upon  the  male  sex  and  their  attributes  as  constitut- 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  149 

ing  the  ''  paragon  of  animals"  and  in  contra-distinc- 
tion  to  tlie  female  portion  of  human  kind  enumerates 
the  peculiar  and  highest  order  of  men's  intellectual 
gifts  combined  with  a  perfection  of  personal  forma- 
tion, and  when  he  has  summed  them  all  up,  he 
adds — 

"  Man  delights  not  me  I" 
The  courtier  then  smiles,  and  he  rebukes  him  with — 

"  Nor  ivoman  neither,"  &c. 

IN'ow  had  Hamlet  begun  with  "What  a  piece  of 
work  is  Tnan  f "  such  a  general  term — man — in  his 
premises  would  have  signified  the  genus  homo^  and 
been  understood  by  the  courtier  as  comprehending 
woman  also,  and  thus  the  point  of  Hamlefs  rebuke 
at  this  imagined  impertinence  been  lost. 

Like  every  other  actor  of  Hamlet  whom  I  have 
seen,  Mr.  Macready's  emphasis  and  intonation  of 
the  word  '^  Southerly " — "  1  am  but  mad  JsTorth, 
ITorthwest ; — when  the  wind  is  Southerly  I  know  a 
hawk  from  a  handsaw" — were  such  as  to  imply  to  a 
listener  that  when  the  wind  may  be  from  the  South 
the  atmosphere  is  clearer  than  when  from  the  I^orth, 
Northwest ;  whereas  the  very  reverse  according  to 
Shakespeare  elsewhere  is  the  fact ;  for  example,  see 
"  As  You  ZiJve  It;'  Act  3,  So.  5. 

''  You  foolish  shepherd,  "wherefore  do  you  follow  her, 
Jjike  foggy  South,  pufTing  with  wind  and  rain." 


150  ACTOES  OF  HAMLET. 

Hamlet^  as  I  understand  the  passage,  means  to 
reflect  gently  upon  the  conceited  cleverness  of  those 
clumsy  spies,  Ttosencrantz  and  Guildenstcrn,  whose 
ill-concealed  designs  are  transparent  to  him,  by 
intimating  to  them  that  their  employers  are  de- 
ceived in  respect  to  the  point  or  direction  of  his 
madness ;  that,  figuratively,  his  brain  is  disordered 
only  upon  one  of  the  clearest  points  of  the  compass, 
to  wit,  IN'orth,  [N'orthwest ;  but  that  even  when  the 
wind  is  Soutlierly^  and  his  intellectual  atmosphere 
in  consequence  most  befogged  and  impenetrable, 
his  observation  is  not  so  mad  or  erratic  as  to  be 
unable  to  distinguish  between  two  such  dissimilar 
objects — for  example — as  ^'  a  haivh  and  a  hand- 
saw.'''' Whether  the  form  of  a  handsaw  in  Shake- 
speare's time  may  have  including  its  teeth  borne 
some  remote  resemblance  to  that  of  a  hawk  when 
his  wings  were  extended,  and  the  ends  of  the  long 
feathers  of  his  tail  also  apparently  notched^  and  sug- 
gested the  comparison,  may  seem  a  far-fetched  as 
well  as  absurd  idea ;  but  if  Shakespeare  wrote 
^^  hernshaw''' — as  has  been  suggested — this  would 
have  been  the  only  occasion  of  his  use  of  that  word 
throughout  his  works,  whereas  he  has  once  else- 
where introduced  handsaw — "  My  sword  hack'd 
like  a  handsaw P 

In  the  soliloquy  on  suicide,  Mr.  Macready  lacked 
that  semblance  of  profound  abstraction  and  of  deep 
meditation — that  absence  of  action  and  motion — 
I  may  say  that  almost  statue-like  station  which  is 


ACTORS   OF   HAMLET.  151 

natural  to  a  mind  absorbed  in  philosopliical  and 
metaph3^sical  self-debate,  whilst  the  general  physique 
of  the  man  seems  in  a  state  of  complete  repose, 
all  of  which  outward  shewing  appears  to  me  indis- 
pensably necessary  to  give  the  language  intensity  in 
its  delivery  upon  the  stage.  It  was  very  inferior  in 
effect  to  the  manner  of  Edmund  Kean  or  of  Charles 
Young, 

In  the  sentence — 

"  To  die  ? — to  sleep, 

No  more!" 

Mr.  Macready,  to  my  surprise  but  not  satisfaction, 
punctuated  by  his  tone  of  voice  the  words — ''  IS^o 
more,"  (?)  as  an  interrogatory  and  as  though  they 
involved  iliQ  continuity  of  a  question,  instead  of  that 
denoting  an  emphatic  and  responsive  exclamation  (!) 
of  a  conclusive  reflection  upon  his  own  preceding 
answer  to  his  self-inquiry :  in  common  prose,  I 
understand  the  course  of  Hamlet's  reasoning  to  be 
thus : — "  To  live  or  to  die  is  now  the  question  with 
me !  which  of  the  two  is  the  more  noble  ?  To  put 
up  with  the  stunning  slings  and  heart-piercing 
arrows  of  that  blind  and  fickle  goddess,  outrageous 
Fortune^  or  to  take  arms  against  myself  and  end 
them  by  suicide  ?  "What  is  death  f  It  is  merely  a 
sleej) :  nothing  more !  Admitting  then,  that,  by 
thus  terminating  my  existence  I  could  put  an  end  to 
an  aching  heart  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks  to 
which  humanity  is  subject,  would  not  such  a  termi- 


152  ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET. 

nation  of  oar  accumulated  miseries  be  a  most 
devoutlj^-desirable  attainment?  Stay,  let  me  pause 
and  reconsider  this  hypothesis !  Granted,  that  to 
die  is  merely  to  sleep  ;  pursuing  the  analogy  it  may 
be  to  dreain  also,  which  is  often  incidental  to  a 
sleep,  or  the  steeping  of  our  natural  senses  in  tempo- 
rary oblivion  and  a  suspension  of  the  faculties !  Ah, 
in  that  view  of  the  subject  a  restraining  cause  is  pre- 
sented ;  for,  in  that  everlasting  sleep,  when  all  hope 
of  awaking — as  in  the  body — and  the  possibility  of 
retracing  our  rash  and  suicidal  experiment  are  lost 
in  fate,  what  Mnd  of  dreams  may  absorb  ns — 
whether  happy  or  miserable  ones — must  make  us 
hesitate ;  that  nncertainty  it  is  which  reconciles  us 
to  endure  the  rather  a  long  continuance  of  calamity  : 
otherwise,  who  would  bear  a  load  of  heart-sickeniug 
griefs  and  unmerited  annoyances  oft-recurring  or 
protracted,  when  it  is  in  his  own  power  to  silence 
and  to  rid  himself  quickly  of  them  all,  by  taking  the 
most  handy  of  arms^  "  a  hare  hodMn "  (the  un- 
sheathed dagger)  and  plunging  it  into  his  heart,  the 
fountain  of  life  ? 

Observe  Shakespeare's  sublime  and  beautiful  con- 
cordance in  the  sentiments  expressed  in  his  play  of 
Measure  for  Measure,  Act  3,  So.  3. 

"  Claudio.  Oh,  Isabel! 

Isabella.  "What  says  my  brother  ? 

Claudio.  Death  is  a  fearful  thing. 

Isabella.  And  shamed  life,  a  hateful. 
Claudio.  Aye,  but  to  die  and  go  we  know  not  where; 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  153 

To  lie  in  cold  obstruction,  and  to  rot ; 
This  sensible  warm  motion*  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod     ******* 
******     >i[q  iqq  horrible  ! 
The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  hfe, 
That  age,  ache,  penury  or  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death." 

Mr.  Macread  J,  therefore,  by  uttering  "  ISTo  more !' 
not  with  the  natural  cadence  of  a  response  to  his 
own  inquiry  but  as  a  further  interrogatory — destroys 
the  harmony  of  Hamlet's  course  of  reflection,  and 
prematurely  supersedes  the  enumeration  of  the  many 
consummated  conquests  promised  himself  until  the 
link  in  his  chain  of  reasoning  is  arrested  whilst  he 
returns  to  and  reconsiders  and  analyses  his  crude 
and  incipient  ideas  of  suicide. 

With  special  reference  to  this  soliloquy  and  to 
that  portion  of  Dr,  GoldsmW s  XVIth  Essay ^  ani- 
madverting upon  it  as  a  composition,  I  remember 
having  in  1828  examined  the  whole  subject  and  dis- 
sected its  component  parts,  and  forming  my  own 
conclusion,  that  this  British  Classic's  objections  were 
hypercritical  and  founded  in  a  singular  misconcep- 
tion of  Shakespeare's  intention. — Seejp.  58. 

That  which  Goldsmith  complained  of  as  an  ^'  in- 
congruous metaphor  "  and  proved  a  stumbling-block 
to  Pope  and  to  some  other  noted  critics,  viz. : 

*  The  heart. 


154:  ACTORS  OF  UAMLET. 

"  To  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles," 

I  understand  thus : — the  "  arms  "  which  Hamlet  pro- 
poses to  take  and  end  his  troubles  withal  are  the 
common  implements  of  suicide ;  of  which  he  after- 
wards specifies  the  Mnd  in  his  disquisition  of  the  sub- 
ject to  be  "(X  hai'e  'bodkin^''  a  bodkin  being  the 
ancient  name  for  a  dagger  /  the  "  sea  of  troubles  " 
referred  to,  is  figurative  of  his  own  hearths  swelling 
and  unceasing  commotion.  The  integrity  of  the 
metaphor  consists  in  the  particular  arm  which  he 
thought  of  "  opjposing^^  in  order  thus  "  to  end  the 
heart-ache "  being  no  other  than  "  a  bare  bodkin  " 
(unsheathed  dagger)  wherewith  he  "  might  "  put  an 
end  to  this  life's  troubles.  Upon  searching  Shake- 
sjDeare's  works  I  find  the  word  ''  Sea^^  often  used 
as  figurative  of  a  vast  quantity  ;  for  examples,  "  a 
sea  of  blood — of  air — of  glory — of  j  oys — of  sorrows ;" 
and,  in  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Yerona^  in  immediate 
connexion  with  the  hearty  thus : 

''  a  heart 


As  fuU  of  sorrows  as  a  sea  "  (is)  ''  of  sands." 

In  Othello  the  Moor  refers  to  the  heart  as — 

"  The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs 
Or  else  dries  up." 

In  the  Second  Part  of  King  Henry  IV. — 

"  The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
Hath  proudly  flowed  in  vanity  till  now, 
Now  doth  it  turn  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea." 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  155 

That  the  word  "  sea "  in  this  sentence  specially 
alludes  to  the  heart  is  indisputable  ;  because  the 
*'  blood  "  can  "  turn  and  ebb  back  "  to  no  other 
"  sea." 

The  analogy  between  the  functions  of  the  heart 
and  the  sea  is  obvious.  The  action  of  the  heart 
continually  propels  the  blood,  and  receives  it  again 
through  the  ''  channels  "  (or  arteries)  and  the  veins 
of  the  body,  as  in  like  manner  does  the  commotive 
power  of  the  sea^  the  flux  and  reflux  of  its  tides, 
through  its  estuaries,  its  rivers,  and  smaller  tribu- 
taries. A  more  direct  and  poetic  aptitude  to  me 
seems  inconceivable.  My  theory  removes  the  occa- 
sion for  Pope's  substitute  of  siege^  and  of  Warbur- 
ton's  suggestion  of  the  word  assail  for  "  sea^^^  and 
permits  the  whole  of  Haralefs  reasoning  faculties 
to  flow  in  a  regular  and  unbroken  and  undeviating 
course,  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  this  incom- 
parable soliloquy.* 

Respecting  the  propriety  of  Mr.  Macready's  con- 
ception of  causing  both  the  King  and  Poloniiis^ 
after  their  hiding  themselves  behind  the  arras,  to 
reappear  for  a  moment,  and  by  their  sudden  retreat 
to  their  covert  be  supposed  to  make  some  noise  or 
momentary  exposure  of  their  persons,  in  order  to 
afford  Haralet  a  pretext  for  his  evident  suspicion 
that  Oj^helia  is  in  a  plot  against  him,  which  his  sud- 
den chano^e  of   manner   and  his   severe   invective 

*  See  Comments  on  Dr.  GoldsmiWs  XVI.  JSssay^  pp.  14-59. 


156  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

seem  to  imply,*  it  strikes  me  tliat  it  miglit  be  expe- 
dient, for  the  sake  of  stage-illustration,  that  Polo- 
nius  only  should  show  liimself,  stealthily  and  for  an 
instant ;  because  his  so  doing  would  be  quite  in 
keeping  with  his  obsequiousness  to  the  King^  and 
his  characteristic  officiousness ;  but  the  juncture  of 
his  affording  Hamlet  such  a  glimpse  would  seem 
more  opportune  just  when  Ophelia  is  tendering  to 
Hamlet  his  "gifts  again,"  and  for  the  reason  that  it 
is  immediately  thereafter  that  Hamlet  changes  his 
tone  and  language  from  delicate  tenderness  to  bitter 
irony  and  personal  animadversion  ;  whereas,  Mr. 
Macready  selects  a  time  when  Hamlet  has  half 
finished  his  severity  upon  Ophelia  and  her  sex 
generally,  and  has  arrived  at  the  point  of  asking  his 
pungent  question — 

"  Where's  your  father  ?  " 

Admitting,  however,  that  Mr.  Macready's  selection 
of  the  particular  time  for  Hamlet  to  catch  a  sight 
of  Polonius  might  be  the  most  fitting,  would  it  not 
be  unreasonable  that  the  King  should  show  himself 
at  all  ?  Would  he  not  be  too  cautious  to  risk  Ham.- 
lefs  discovery  of  his  espionage,  and  whilst,  too,  he 
could,  without  even  peeping,  hear  through  the  arras 
every  syllable  of  their  conference  ?  But,  above  all, 
it  was  very  inconsistent  in  Mr.  Macready  to  make 
Hamlet^  who  has  been  striving  in  various  ways  to 

*  See  my  letter  to  Mr.  Adams. 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  157 

divert  tlie  King  from  any  suspicion  that  he  was 
watching  his  proceedings,  walk  up  close  to  the 
King^s  place  of  concealment,  and  there  vociferate 
his  parting  speech  ; — one  evidently  intended  to  be 
but  j)artly  heard  even  by  Ophelia — the  threat 
respecting  the  King^  contained  in  the  natural  pai'en- 
thesis,  being  to  realize  to  Jiiinself  what  dramatic 
soliloquists  are  designed  to  share  with  an  audience, 
a  secret  thought^  namely — 

"  I  say,  we  will  liave  no  more  marriages :  those  that  are 
married  already  {oil  hut  one)  shall  live ;  the  rest  shall  keep  as 
they  are.     To  a  nunnery  go. 

[ExiC 

Mr.  Macready,  in  the  advice  to  the  players.^  wanted 
the  familiarity  of  courteous  condescension ;  it  was 
not  easy  and  graceful,  but  stiff  and  formal.  The 
piquant  sentence — 

"  If  his  occulted  guilt 
Do  not  itself  unkennel  in  one  speech," 

was  not  pronounced  with  the  particular  ana  requi- 
site emphasis  upon  the  words  which  imply  that  it  is 
some  speech  which  Hamlet  has  interpolated  where 
the  blank  verse  had  been  made  to  "  halt  for  it,"  or 
one  wherein  he  had  expected  to  "  catch  the  con- 
science of  the  KingP 

"  Hamlet.  They  are  coming  to  the  play ;  I  must  be  idle  : 
Get  you  a  place." 


158  ACTORS   OF  HAMLET. 

By  "  idle  "  I  understand  Hamlet  to  signify  to  Hora- 
tio that  lie  himself  must  seem  to  have  no  fixed 
object  by  or  during  the  performance;  his  policy 
dictating  that  he  should  appear  listless  and  unoccu- 
pied, in  order  that  the  King  might  disregard  his 
presence,  confine  his  attention  closely  to  the  play, 
and  thus  become  entrapped  into  some  exhibition  of 
compunction  or  remorse.  Mr.  Macready,  however, 
construes  the  word  "  idle "  very  difi'erently ;  inas- 
much as  he  immediately  assumed  the  manner  of  an 
idiot,  or  of  a  silly  and  active  and  impertinent  booby, 
by  tossing  his  head  right  and  left,  and  walking 
rapidly  across  the  stage  five  or  six  times  before  the 
foot-lights  and  switching  his  handkerchief — held  by 
a  corner — over  his  right  and  left  shoulder  alter- 
nately, until  the  whole  court  have  had  time  to 
parade  and  be  seated,  and  Hamlet  finds  himself 
addressed.  Such  behavior  was  ill-calculated  to 
indicate  an  "  idle  "  spectator. 

"  Hamlet.  It  was  a  brute  part  of  him, — to  kill  so  capital  a 
calf  there ! " 

Instead  of  availing  Hamlet  of  the  privilege  of 
his  assumed  madness,  as  a  screen  behind  which  to 
insult  the  old  courtier  and  lord  cliamherlain  in  pre- 
sence of  the  courts  would  it  not  have  been  in  better 
taste  if  Mr.  Macready  had  spoken  the  latter  part  of 
the  sentence  (aside)  as  though  muttered  to  himself? 

"  Eamlet.  Oh,  they  do  but  /es^,— POISON  in  jest !  No 
offence  in  the  world  1" 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  159 

Mr.  Macread}",  nuder  a  comic  guise,  bronglit  out 
tliat  interjection  with  great  pungency  and  admirable 
effect. 

"  G^uildensiern.  The  King,  Sir,  is  in  his  retirement,  marvel- 
lously distempered ; 

Mamkt.  With  di-ink,  Sir  ?" 

Mr.  Macread  J  instead  of  as  an  interrogation  uttered 
the  words  rapidly  and  in  a  tone  of  exclamation 
denoting  an  unquestionahle  conclusion.  It  was  good 
and  not  objectionable  for  the  reason  that  the  sneer 
at  the  habits  of  "  the  bloat  king  "  is  practically  con- 
veyed to  the  listener  by  either  punctuation. 

Like  every  other  actor  of  Hamlet  seen  by  me,  Mr. 
Macready  infused  no  petulancy  and  seemed  to  attach 
no  special  importance  to  the  eepetition  of  the  irrita- 
ble answer  when  he  is  interrupted  by  Polonius's 
unwelcome  entrance  and  abrupt  delivery  of  his 
mother's  message.  Hamlefs  situation  at  the  junc- 
ture is  suggestive. 

Whilst  suffering  already  from  the  intrusion  of  the 
courtiers  Rosencrantz  and  Guildenstern,  whom  he 
rebukes  with — "  Call  me  what  instrument  you  will, 
though  you  raaj  fret  me,  you  cannot ^?«?/  upon  me  !" 
he  is  subjected  to  another  infliction  by  the  unex- 
pected and  equally  unwelcome  approach  of  Polo- 
nius,  whom  he  salutes  with  ironical  courtesy — 

"  God  bless  you,  Sir  I 
Polonius.  My  lord,  the  queen  would  speak  with  you,  and 
presently. 


160  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

Hamlet  Do  you  see  yonder  cloud  that's  almost  in  the  shape 
of  a  camel  ? 

Polonins.  By  the  mass,  and  His  like  a  camel,  indeed! 

Hamlet.  Methinks,  it's  like  a  weasel. 

Polonius.  It  is  hacTied  like  a  weasel. 

Hamlet.  Or  like  a  whale  ? 

Polonius.  Very  like  a  whale  ! 

Hamlet.  Then  I  will  come  to  my  mother  by  and  by.  They 
fool  me  to  the  top  of  my  bent ! — I  will  come  by  and  by ! 

Polonius.  I  will  say  so.  {^ExU  Polonius. 

Hamlet.  (As  Polonius  is  departing.)  By  and  by  is  easily 
said !  (Then  turning  to  the  Courtiers  he  dismisses  them  with 
marked  irony.)     Leave  me,  friends  I" 

My  idea  of  the  proper  stage-rmmwOiY  of  Hamlet^ 
wlien  giving  Polonius  his  answer,  is  derived  from 
the  fact  that  Ilamlet  is  particiilarlj  nettled,  as  his 
words  imply ;  lie  thinks  Polonius  "  a  foolish,  prating 
knave,"  and  when  pestered  at  this  unseasonable  time 
by  his  officious  entrance  and  offensive  self-import- 
ance, abruptly  assumes  to  be  busily  engaged  in 
reconnoitring  some  object  aloft,  which  he  describes 
and  asks  Polonius  whether  he,  too,  sees  it ;  Polo- 
nius readily  veers  about  with  the  wind  of  what  he 
supposes  Hamlefs  diseased  imagination,  and  humors 
his  crafty  whims  in  three  distinct  appearances  of  the 
same  impalpable  object ;  Hamlet,  upon  finding  that 
Polonius  will  agree  to  every  thing  he  suggests, 
reciprocates  the  courtesy  and  dismisses  him  with, — 

"  Then,  I  will  come  to  my  mother  by  and  by  1" 

and  turning  away  from  him,  and  walking  towards 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  161 

the  other  side  of  the  stage,  soliloquizes  respecting 
his  own  vexation — 

"  They  fool  me  to  the  top  of  my  bent;" 

and  naturally  supposing  that  Polonius^  to  whom  he 
had  already  given  an  answer,  had  gone  with  it  in 
haste  to  his  mother,  Hamlet  is  about  to  resume  his 
invective  agalTist  the  Courtier  when  he  turns  and 
perceives  Polonius  still  standing  just  where  he  was 
when  he  had  given  him  his  answer,  and  also  still 
gaping  at  him  in  stupid  amazement ;  whereupon,  as 
I  conceive,  Hamlet  ought  to  approach  Polonius  and 
repeat  loudly^  Siud  jpeevishly  and  syllahicallj-distinct, 
the  words  : — 

''I win  C0:ME  hy  and  BY  1" 

in  order  that  Polonius,  now  no  longer  unable  to 
comprehend  Hanilefs  desire  for  his  departure,  may 
withdraw,  as  he  does  presently,  saying — "  I  will  say 
so !"  upon  which  Hamlet  abruptly  remarks — "  By 
and  by  is  easily  said !"  in  a  tone  and  with  a  brus- 
querie,  denoting  in  plain  prose, — 

"  If  you  understood  my  answer,  which  is  so  simple  and  easily 
carried,  why  do  you  continue  here  instead  of  dispatching  it  ?" 

Finally,  as  respects  these  delicate  traits  of  Harrv- 
lets  character,  which  I  have  described  as  I  under- 
stand them,  I  reiterate  that  Mr.  Macready's  negli- 
gent manner  in  pronouncing — "  I  will  come  by  and 
by !"  w-anted  motive.     He  delivered  the  next  sen- 


162  ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET. 

tence — ''  Tliej  fool  me  to  the  top  of  my  bent !"  with- 
out walking  away,  or  even  turning  his  face  enough 
from  Poloniics,  to  realize  to  the  audience  the  abstrac- 
tion due  an  "  aside  "  s^^eech,  and  then  hurriedly  full- 
facing  him  again,  rejpeated — "  I  will  come  by  and 
by  !"  not  only  without  a  point  but  with  a  listlessness 
which  he  carried  into  the  subsequent  remark,  viz. — 
"  ^j  and  by  is  easily  said  !''  as  though  he  was  quite 
unconcerned  whether  his  words  were  emphatical,  or 
even  heard  by  Polonius  whom  he  is  rebuking. 

'Tis  true,  that  very  few  individuals  among  even  a 
large  assemblage  might  recognise  such  nice  distinc- 
tions in  an  actor's  performance ;  but  a  great  artist 
owes  it  to  his  own  pretensions  to  study  closely, 
discern  and  try  to  penetrate,  and  to  develo])  with 
fidelity  in  his  jpoHraiture^  the  most  delicate  recesses 
in  Hamlefs  mind.  No  word  or  line  of  the  lano^ua^fe 
put  by  Shakespeare  in  the  mouths  of  any  of  his  lead- 
ing characters  is  unworthy  of  the  best  actor's  care- 
ful consideration,  or  of  his  art  to  utter  effectively. 

A  most  thoughtless  but  outrageous  license  with 
Shakespeare  seems  to  have  become  invariable  with 
the  actors  of  Hamlet  in  the  application  of  the  lines — 

"  I  must  be  cruel  only  to  be  kind, 
Thus  bad  begins  and  worse  remains  beliind." 

This  couplet  in  every  stage-Qdiiiion  of  the  play  is 
arranged  to  conclude  the  closet-scene,  and  every 
actor  of  Hamlet  whom  I  have  seen,  has  more  or  less 
perverted  the  bard's  true   meaning  and  more  in 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  163 

ignorance  than  cunning,  as  I  hope,  joined  in  casting 
a  moral  blot  upon  the  character  of  Hamlet^  totally 
unwarranted  by  the  text  or  context ;  the  atrocity 
consists  in  the  reigning  fashion  of  rendering  this 
couplet  upon  the  stage^  which  is  as  follows : — After 
the  termination  of  the  dialogue  between  Hamlet  and 
his  mother,  as  it  is  abridged  and  arranged  for  repre- 
sentation, when  Hamlet  utters  the  words — 

"  So  again,  good  night  I" 

the  Queen  is  required  to  approach  Hamlet  and  to 
offer  a  parting  emhrace^  at  which  Hamlet  seems 
shocked,  and  shudders,  and  shrinks  back  with 
averted  palms,  and  pharisee-like  refuses  to  allow 
her  I  the  Queen  then  seems  convulsed,  bursts  into 
tears,  and  rushes  off  one  way  whilst  Hamlet  goes  in 
the  opposite  direction,  expressing  first  as  an  appa- 
rent excuse  for  such  unrelenting  hard-heartedness 
the  couplet — 

"  I  must  be  cruel  only  to  be  kind : 
Thus  bad  begins  and  worse  remains  behind." 

"WTiereas,  if  we  carefully  examine  the  original  scene 
and  the  order  of  Shakespeare's  language  we  find 
that  this  same  couplet  does  not  come  in  next  after 
the  last  time  of  Hamlefs  saying — "  Good  night, 
mother !"  but,  in  the  m.idst  of  his  advice,  reflec- 
tions, and  varied  expostulations  with  his  mother, 
and  when  the  Ghost  of  his  father — conjured  to  his 
imaginative  vision  by  the  heat  of  his  distemper,  in 


164  ACTORS   OF  HAMLET. 

"  the  very  witching  time  of  night" — had  been  dis- 
pelled by  some  sprinkling  of  cool  patience,  and  his 
reasoning  fticulties  had  again  resumed  their  sway. 
In  the  tJdrd  line  of  the  speech  wherein  this  couplet 
occurs — after  which  he  utters  some  fifty  more  lines 
before  he  separates  from  her — he  has  interjected, 
"  Good  night !"  as  if  for  the  purpose  of  hurrying 
her  away,  and  with  the  object  of  securing  a  chance 
to  secrete  the  body  of  Polonius  /  then  adding 
some  dozen  lines  of  sentiment  about  "  Yirtue,"  &c., 

says — 

"  Again  good  night  I" 

and — as  an  inducement  for  a  mother  to  become 
virtuous,  and  be  in  a  condition  to  bless  her  son  with 
a  good  grace — remarks  in  substance — 

"  When  you  by  a  reformation  evince  an  anxiety  to  deserve 
a  blessing  of  Heaven,  I  will  beg  a  blessing  of  you !" 

He  then  alludes  to  the  fate  of  Polonius — 

"  For  this  same  lord, 
I  do  repent :  but  Heaven  hath  pleased  it  so, 
To  punish  me  with  this,  and  this  Avith  me. 
That  I  must  be  their  scourge  and  minister. 
I  will  bestow  him,  and  will  answer  well 
The  death  I  gave  him.     So  again,  good  night ! 
I  must  be  cruel  only  to  be  kind, 
Thus  bad  begins  and  worse  remains  behind. 
But  one  word  more,  good  lady. 

Queen.  "What  shall  I  do  ? 

Hamlet.  Not  this,  by  no  means,  that  I  bid  you  do : 
Let  the  bloat  king  tempt  you  again  to  bed, 
&c.,        &c.,         &c.,         &c.,        &;c." 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  165 

From  the  foregoing  context,  tlien,  the  obvious 
meaning  of 

"  I  must  be  cruel  only  to  be  kind," 

is,  "I  must  'wring  your  heart,'  as  I  premised  to  you 
at  the  opening  of  this  interview  would  be  necessary 
when  I  peremptorily  bade  you  so  '  let  me,'  and 
added — 

"  Come,  come,  and  sit  you  down  ;  you  shall  not  budge ; 
You  go  not,  till  I  set  you  up  a  glass 
Where  you  may  see  the  inmost  part  of  you  ;" 

"  this  seeming  cruelty  of  mine,  in  ripping  up  and 
exposing  to  your  own  censure  your  conduct,  must 
be  committed  in  order  to  prove  to  you  by  its  effect 
the  essential  kindness  of  my  ulterior  object,  which  is 
your  reformation  y  when  I  began  and  put  it  to  you 
roundly  you  became  alarmed,  and  cried  out  for 
'  Help !'  and  I — mistaking  the  voice  behind  the 
arras  for  that  of  another  person — slew  Polonius 
imintentionally :"  "  Thus  bad  begins  and  worse 
remains  behind,"  id  est^  "  Thus,  you  should  per- 
ceive, your  own  bad  or  wicked  beginning,  in  being 
won  to  the  shameful  lust  of  your  husband's  brother, 
my  uncle,  ended  in  worse  consequences,  to  wit :  my 
uncle's  murder  of  my  father."  (To  wliicli  murder 
Hamlet  must  at  least  have  suspected  her  to  have 
been  accessory  when  in  reference  to  her  calling  his 
killing  of  Polonius  "  a  rash  and  bloody  deed !" 
Hamlet  remarks — 


166  ACTORS   OF  HAMLET. 

"  Almost  as  bad,  good  mother, 
As  kill  a  king  aud  marry  with  his  brother,") 

''  and  now  here  is  another  conseqnence  following 
that,  to  wit,  my  own  unhappy  mistake  here  in  my 
homicide  of  PoloniusP 

In  reply  to  the  Queen's  inquiry 

"  What  shaU  I  do  ?" 

Haralet  ironically  puts  her  upon  her  guard  against 
the  probable  attempts  of  his  uncle  to  disclose — 

"  That  I  essentially  am  not  in  madness, 
But  mad  in  craft ;  'twere  good  you  let  him  know,"  &c. 

The  Queen  thereupon  assures  Hamlet^  on  her  life, 
that  she  will  not  'breathe  what  he  has  said  to  her. 
He  then  reminds  her  of  what  she  "  had  forgot," 
namely,  that  it  has  been  concluded  by  a  resolve  of 
the  King  that  "  Hamlet  must  be  sent  to  England  ;" 
acquaints  her  with  the  plot  against  himself  in  which 
his  two  schoolfellows  conspire,  &c.,  and  of  his  de- 
sign to  outwit  them  ;  that  this  fate  of  Polonius  will 
necessarily  precipitate  his  departure ;  again  he 
says, 

"  Mother,  good  night  I" 

as  he  commences  to  drag  the  corpse  of  Polonius 
into  an  adjoining  room,  and  moralizes  upon  his 
character^  and  then  goes  off  the  scene  one  way 
hauling  the  dead  body  after  him,  and  reiterating — 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  167 

"  Good  iiiglit,  mother  !"  whilst  the  Queen  departs 
simultaueoiisly  m  another  direction. 

Therefore,  I  contend  for  the  absolute  correctness 
of  my  interpretation  of  the  aforesaid  couplet — 

"  I  must  be  cruel  only  to  be  kind, 
Thus  bad  begins  and  worse  remains  behind ;" 

— and  to  whom  and  to  loJiat  the  words  refer ;  and 
furthermore  that  they  have  not  only  no  connexion 
with  any  imaginary  refusal  on  the  part  of  Hamlet 
to  permit  his  mother  to  embrace  him,  but,  that,  after 
a  minute  examination  of  every  link  in  the  entire 
chain  of  the  colloquy,  there  can  be  discerned  no 
loarranty  lohatever  anywhere  for  the  Queen's  offer 
to  emhrace  Hamlet,  either  expressed  or  implied  by 
the  words  or  the  several  situations  :  but,  supposing 
for  argument's  sake  that  the  Queen,  couscience- 
stricken  and  seeking  her  son's  counsel,  would  offer 
to  embrace  Hamlet,  would  it  be  consistent  with  his 
previous  character,  his  frequent  acknowledgment 
of  his  own  imperfections,  his  pre-determination 
when  sent  for  and  obediently  going  to  his  mother — • 

"  Let  me  be  cruel,  not  unnatural," 

and  now  especially,  having  just  slain  by  mistake,  in 
his  rash  haste,  the  unlucky  Polonms,  to  refuse  an 
embrace  to  his  unhappy  mother  at  parting  and  upon 
the  Pharisee's  pretext  ?  "  Stand  off,  I  am  holier 
than  thou!"    whenever  I  have  seen   this   atrocity 


168  ACTOBS  OF  HAMLET. 

committed  npou  the  stage,  I  have  invoked  the  shade 
of  Shakespeare  to  forgive  the  i(jnoranc6  of  the  actor 
who  could  not  be  aware  of  what  he  was  doing,  when 
thus  constructively  libelling  Hainlefs  nature, 

"  That  skull  had  a  tongue  in  it  and  could  sing  once ;" 

Mr.  Macready,  like  every  other  actor  seen  by  me, 
by  his  emphasis  rendered  "  tongue "  and  "  sing " 
antithetical,  which  fails  to  point  to  the  listener  the 
TTwral  intended.  Hmnlet  begins  moralizing  to  Hora- 
tio as  they  enter  the  grave-yard,  upon  the  grave-dig- 
ger's habit  of  singing  whilst  engaged  in  so  melan- 
choly an  employment ;  when  they  have  approached 
him  more  nearly  the  grave-digger  sings  a  second 
verse,  and  with  his  spade  at  the  same  time  throws 
up  a  slciill I  Hamlet  then  remarks — "That  skull 
had  a  tongue  in  it  and  could  sing  once  !"  to  convey 
the  idea  that  the  skull  now  so  mute  and  knocked 
about  by  the  rude  clowm,  once  had  a  tongue  in  it 
and  could  do  that  which  he  (the  grave-digger)  is 
then  doing,  namely,  singing  ;  this  raoral-^omimg  of 
Hamlets  reflection  can  be  most  clearly  conveyed  to 
an  auditor's  comprehension  by  special  emphasis 
and  intonation,  rendering  the  words,  "  skull "  and 
^'' once^''  strongly  emphatical  as  antitheses^  thus — 
"  That  SKULL — had  a  tongue  in  it  and  could  sing 
ONCE  ;"  but  as  pronounced  by  Mr.  Macready  and 
others,  the  point  of  the  sentiment  is  not  prominent 
enough,  and  Hamlet  might  with  equal  effect  have  refer- 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  169 

red  to  either  of  the  other  faculties  once  possessed  by 
that  now  speechless  skull  in  common  with  tlie  grave-dig- 
ger's, as,  "  that  it  had  an  eye  and  could  see  once,  or 
an  ear  and  could  hear  once,  &c. ;"  however,  Mr. 
Macready's  voice,  or  his  ear,  seems  not  very  well 
suited  to  intonate  some  of  Shakespeare's  jprose  with 
the  most  appropriate  effect,  and  evidently  is  incapa- 
ble of  regulating  the  utterance  of  his  poetry  with 
harmonious  variety  ;  his  voice  seems  least  disquali- 
fied where  his  subject  affords  scope  for  strong  physi- 
cal excitement,  or  discordant  fury ;  his  taste  or  his 
ear  must  be  bad,  because  he  frequently  destroys  the 
rhythm  of  the  line ;  sometimes  by  omitting  neces- 
sary syllables,  and  at  others  by  adding  to  a  word 
what  is  not  in  the  text. 

In  conclusion,  to  leave  Mr.  Macready's  persona- 
tion, and  to  treat  of  the  character  of  Hamlet  only,  it 
recurs  to  my  mind  that  much  irrelevant  learning  has 
been  displayed,  as  also  abstract  and  unnecessary 
argument  indulged  by  eminent  critics,  in  attempts 
to  prove  whether  Shakespeare  intended  that  Hamlet 
should  be  really  mad,  or  throughout  only  affecting 
insanity.  A  mature  digestion  of  his  text  is  quite 
sufficient  to  furnish  me  abundant  and  conclusive 
evidence  upon  that  point,  and  I  was  very  much 
gratified,  after  our  correspondence  respecting  the 
character,  to  hear  my  honorable  and  learned  friend, 
Mr.  x\dams,  express  his  coincidence  in  my  opinion. 

After  Hamlefs  first  interview  with  the  aj^parition, 
that  \iQ  feigns  madness — to  conceal  his  secret  design 

8 


170  ACTORS   OF  HAMLET. 

— cannot  be  disputed;  because,  lie  adjures  his  com- 
panions who  shared  the  sight,  that — 

"  How  strange  or  odd  soe'r  I  bear  myself, 
As  I,  perchance,  hereafter  shall  think  meet 
To  put  an  antic  disposition  on ," 

thej  never  shall  in  any  way  intimate  or  signify  to 
another  that  they  "  knoio  aught  "  of  him.  That 
Hamlet^  however,  actually  becomes  after  the  play- 
scene  the  victim  of  temporary  aberration  of  mind,  I 
think  a  very  reasonable  inference ;  because,  his 
violent  excitement  in  the  closet-scene  with  his 
mother — his  short  soliloquy  prior  to  proceeding 
thither  and  including — 

"  Now  could  I  drink  hot  blood 
And  do  such  bitter  business  as  the  day 
Would  quake  to  look  on ;" 

his  rash  slaughter  of  Polonius^  there,  and  the  conju- 
ration of  his  father's  spirit  through  the  medium  of 
his  heated  imagination,  indicate  a  gradual  tendency 
towards  and  the  reaching  of  a  climax  of  deliriuin. 

During  Hamlefs  short  cruise  his  senses  seem  to 
have  been  tranquillized,  and  his  ingenuity  precipi- 
tated ;  but  when  he  was  landed  stealthily  and  walks 
casually  into  the  grave-yard  he  moralizes  to  Hora- 
tio sensibly  enough  until  the  incidental  news  of  the 
death  and  his  presence  at  the  actual  obsequies  of 
Ophelia  shock  his  sensitive  and  susceptible  nature, 
put  a  period  to  his  reasoning  interval,  and  produce  a 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  171 

fresh  outbreak  of  madness ;  a  predisposition  to  which 
is  accelerated  by  the  ravings  and  frantic  conduct  of 
Laertes  before  he  joins  him  by  leaping  into  Ophelia's 
grave :  for,  Hamlet  says  calmly  afterwards  in  con- 
versation with  Horatio  in  reference  to  Laertes  and 
the  occasion — 

"  But,  sure,  the  bravery  of  his  grief  did  put  me 
Into  a  towering  passion." 

After  Hamlefs  phrensy  in  that  scene  had  reached 
the  height  of  verbal  and  practical  extravagance,  his 
mother  interjects — 

"  This  is  mere  madness, 
And  thus  awhile  the  fit  will  work  on  him ; 
Anon,  as  patient  as  the  female  dove 
When  that  her  golden  couplets  are  disclos'd, 
His  silence  will  sit  drooping." 

Hamlefs  wild  and  indecorous  behavior,  during 
Ophelia^ s  obsequies,  I  regard  as  stronger  and  more 
intrinsic  proof  of  his  absolute  derangement  than 
even  his  own  admission;  because,  it  might  be 
argued  against  tJiat^  that  he  has  still  an  object  in 
keeping  the  fact  unknown  of  his  then  or  upon  any 
occasion  feigned  madness ;  and  it  also  might  be 
consistently  urged  that  his  mother's  having  then 
pronounced  him  "  mad  "  was  but  in  virtue  of  the 
promise  he  exacted  of  her  in  her  closet,  to  keep 
his  secret :  but,  in  the  denouement,  when  his  mad- 
ness is  not  doubted  by  any  one  and  he  can  have  no 


172  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

motive  for  deception,  when  the  king  puts  the  hand 
of  Laertes  into  that  of  Hamlet  after  sajing — 

"  Come,  Hamlet^  come,  and  take  this  hand  from  me," 

if  Hamlet  is  not  honest  in  his  vohmtarj  apology 
and  gratuitous  explanation  to  Laertes^  and  does  not 
really  believe  himself  "punished  with  a  sore  dis- 
traction," such  meanness,  cowardice,  insincerity, 
and  inconsistency,  should  furnish  conclusive  evi- 
dence that  he  must  be  m.ad  without  heing  aware 
of  it.     Mark  his  words  to  Laertes — 

"  Grive  me  your  pardon.  Sir,  I  have  done  you  wrong, 
But,  pardon  it,  as  you  are  a  gentleman. 
This  Presence  knows,  and  you  must  needs  have  heard, 
How  I  am  punish'd  with  a  sore  distraction. 
What  I  have  done. 

That  might  your  nature,  honor,  and  exception, 
Roughly  awake,  I  here  proclaim  was  madness. 
Was't  Hamlet  wrong'd  Laertes  ?    Never,  Hamlet ; 
If  Hamlet  from  himself  be  ta'en  away, 
And,  WHEN  he's  not  himself,  does  wrong  Laertes, 
Then  Hamlet  does  it  not ;  Hamlet  denies  it. 
Who  does  it  then  ?     His  madness  :  if 't  be  so, 
Hamlet  is  of  the  faction  that  is  wrong'd  ; 
His  madness  is  poor  Hamlet's  enemy." 

Hamlet  then  appeals  to  the  feelings  of  Laertes,  who 
hypocritically  professes  to  be  "  satisfied." 

"  Sir,  in  this  audience. 
Let  my  disclaiming,  from  a  purpose  evil. 
Free  me  so  far  in  your  most  generous  thoughts, 
That  I  have  shot  my  ariow  o'er  the  house. 
And  luirt  my  brother.''' 


ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET.  173 

From  tliese  premises,  then,  one  of  two  conclnsions 
I  deem  unavoidably  to  be  drawn  by  every  candid 
and  strict  investi2:ator  of  the  character,  namelv : 
either  that  Sliakespeare  intended  to  depict  in  Ham- 
let an  unhappy  and  distracted  but  honorable  gentle- 
man, or  a  base,  degenerate,  and  contemptible  prince. 

Note. — Only  three  or  four  nights  prior  to  Mr.  Macready's 
final  performance  and  retirement  from  the  stage,  he  played 
Cassius  in  Julius  Ccesar^  at  the  Hay  market,  London,  the  sea- 
son of  1851-52.  Sir  Thomas  Noon  Talfourd  was  seated  by 
my  side  in  a  stall  during  the  play,  and  afterwards  we  walked 
thence  together  to  the  Garrick  Club.  Sir  Thomas  was  a  great 
admirer  of  Macready,  and  seemed  very  much  gratified  when  I 
observed  to  him  that  "  I  had  been  surprised  and  delighted  at 
witnessing  his  personification  of  Cassius^  which  I  considered 
to  be  perfectly  ShaJcespearean,  and  that  acting  could  not  more 
completely  represent  such  a  character." 


CHARLES    KEMBLE. 

Park  Theatre,  New   Yorh,  1832. 

His  style  of  reading  Hamlet,  though  artistical, 
was  prosy  and  measured  ;  his  action  and  gestures 
were  graceful,  but  never  seemed  impulsive,  and  his 
manner — wherein  "  ars  est  celare  arter)i)^  appeared 
throughout — studied  and  mechanical ;  his  voice  was 
tenor-like,  and  never  descended  into  any  profundity 
of  tone,  and  whenever  elevated  was  thin  and  reedy, 
and  sometimes  became  quite  shrill ;  and  notwith- 
standing a  characteristic  wig,  his  features  denoted 


174  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

Ills  age  to  be  far  in  advance  of  tlie  "  thirty  years" 
whicli  the  grave-digger  reports  Hamlet  to  have 
attained,  at  the  time  when  iliQJifth  ^ct  of  the  tra- 
gedy has  commenced. 

Mr.  Kemble  was  tall,  and  had  rather  a  good  hnt 
fixed  and  elongated  visage,  and  prominent  features, 
and  his  profile  j^articularly  partook  mostly  of  the 
Grecian  order ;  his  figure  was  fine  and  command- 
ing, and  the  carriage  of  his  person  remarkable 
for  ease,  grace,  dignity,  and  for  elegance  in  high- 
comedy  and  characters  like  Lord  Townly  in  The 
Provoked  Husband^  which  I  saw  him  personate  at 
Covent  Garden  in  1827  (during  my  first  visit  to 
England),  to  the  Lady  Townly  of  the  celebrated 
and  beautiful  Miss  Foote^  who  became  afterwards 
Countess  of  Harrington.  Briefly,  I  can  conceive 
of  no  more  refined  and  admirable  personations  than 
Mr.  C.  Kemble  gave,  in  those  days,  of  Benedick  in 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing^  Charles  Surface  in  The 
School  for  Scandal^  Don  Felix  in  The  Wonder^ 
Doricourt  in  The  Beliefs  Stratagem.,  and  of  each  of 
the  other  characters  in  elegant-comedy  wherein 
Miss  Foote  was  then  the  great  feature  of  the  British 
stage. 

I  had  often  heard  Mr.  Charles  Kemble's  Cassio 
highly  commended  by  Londoners,  but  never  had  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  him  in  that  part.  I  saw  him 
play  Othello  once  to  Charles  Young's  Lago,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  passionless,  and  too  stately  and  courtly 
for  the  Moor,  who  deprecates  his  own  deficiencies 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  175 

in  social  and  refined  education  and  manners,  by 
observing  that  lie  has  not  "  those  soft  parts  of  speech 
that  cliamberers  have,"  and  that — 

''  Since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years'  pith 
Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted  they've  used 
Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field." 

Mr,  C.  Kemble's  Romeo  was  a  very  acceptable 
performance,  and  his  Mercntio  gay,  spirited,  and 
thoroughly  Shakespearean  ;  his  Falstaff  of  King 
Henry  IV.  (First  Part)  was  chaste  and  sensible,  but 
showed  no  mellowness,  nor  unctuosity,  or  rich 
humor — it  was  very  dry  and  hard ;  his  Jfark  An- 
tony in  Julius  CcGsar  was  popular,  effective,  and 
excellent ;  but,  of  all  the  characters  of  the  Bard 
of  Avon,  his  personation  of  Falconbvidge  {The  Bas- 
tard in  King  John)  was  the  greatest,  most  perfect, 
and  admirable. 


JUNIUS   BRUTUS   BOOTH. 

Chestnut  Street  Theatre^  Philadelphia^  1831. 

Mr.  Booth  read  Hamlet  with  a  good  degree  of 
understanding,  and  he  had  a  fine  intellectual  eye 
and  cast  of  countenance ;  but  his  voice  was  nasal, 
the  action  of  his  arms  awkward — they  seemed  as 
though  they  were  pinioned  at  the  elbows ;  he  was 
below  the  medium  stature  and  had  very  bandy  legs, 
and  his  gait  and  bearing  were  not  susceptible  of 


176  ACTOES  OF  HAMLET. 

depicting  any  personal  dignity ;  indeed  sucli  vreve 
Mr.  Bootirs  natural  impediments,  that  no  human 
genius  could  surmount  or  blind  an  intelligent  spec- 
tator, or  cause  him  to  forget  them,  and  esteem  his 
personation  of  Ha7)ilet  satisfactory — or  tolerable. 
As  Richard  the  Thirds  however,  Mr.  Booth  was 
generally  popular ;  and  had  been  originally  brought 
to  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  London,  from  the  pro- 
vinces, and  pitted  as  a  rival  to  Edmund  Kean,  after 
the  latter  had  made  a  stand  and  proved  so  attractive 
in  that  character  at  Drury  Lane.  By  many  of  the 
critics  of  London  Mr.  Booth,  whose  conception  and 
manner  of  representing  IticJiard  seemed  very  simi- 
lar to  Ivean's,  was  regarded  as  an  imitator  of  that 
then  new  and  popular  actor,  and  not  allowed  the 
credit  of  that  original  genius  which  he  appeared  to 
me  at  intervals  subsequently  to  display  clearly. 
Some,  however,  considered  his  performance  of 
Ricliard  quite  as  meritorious  as  Kean's,  and  Mr. 
Booth's  tent-scene,  jpaHicularly ^  was  pronounced 
"  superior ;"  and  when  I  had  had  an  opportunity, 
years  afterwards,  at  E"ew  York,  to  see  both  and 
compare  them,  despite  my  decided  preference  for 
Kean's  general  performance,  I  was  bound  to  esteem 
Booth's  tent-scene  the  most  startling  and  effective  : 
but,  upon  research  and  reflection  in  after  years,  I 
found  I  had^ike  a  large  portion  of  play-goers — 
derived  my  first  impression  and  general  conception 
of  King  Richard  the  Third — not  from  received 
history^    nor    from    Shalcesj>eare' s    genuine    dra- 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  177 

matte  portrait^  but  that  I  had  canglit  it  from  that 
popular  actor's  peculiar  aucl  fascinating  style  in 
rendering  Oiljber^s  stage- adaptation  of  the  play  ;  and, 
much  as  I  admired  Edmund  Kean,  and  closely  as  I 
had  studied  his  manner  when  I  first  adopted  the 
stage,  and  applauded  as  I  had  been  both  in  London 
and  New  York,  in  the  year  1827,  for  my  avowed 
hnitation  of  him  throughout  that  arduous  part,  sub- 
sequent examination  and  comparison  of  reports  and 
imitations  by  contemporaries  of  the  departed  but 
famous  Cooke's  style,  convinced  me  that,  though  Mr. 
Kean's  genius  and  tact  had  enabled  him  to  with- 
draw my  consideration  from  many  of  Richard^ s 
proper  and  authentic  characteristics,  and  surprise 
and  charm  me  with  his  own  substituted  peculiarities, 
yet  the  late  George  Frederick  Cookers  performance 
of  that  part — at  xTew  York  as  late  as  ISIO — must 
have  been  much  nearer  Shakespeare's  intention. 


JOHN   YANDENHOFF.  • 

New  Tori,  1838. 

Mr.  Yandenhoff  was  not  gifted  by  nature  with  a 
fine  face,  its  features  were  so  hard  as  to  be  incapable 
of  any  variety  of  expression  ;  his  figure  was  indiffe- 
rent ;  his  action  not  remarkable  for  grace,  and  his 
step  tardy  and  gait  heavy ;  his  blood  seemed  to  be 
too  cold  and  temperate,  and  his  occasional  enthu- 

8" 


178  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

siasm  too  palpably  artificial ;  his  delivery  of  the 
text  of  Hamlet^  though  indicating  sound  sense  and 
careful  study,  was  generally  prosaic  and  monoto- 
nous, and  sometimes  smacked  strongly  of  the  con- 
venticle ;  he  had  also  a  catarrh-like  and  seemingly- 
organic  impediment  in  his  speech,  and  looked  alto- 
gether too  old  to  represent  the  character. 

In  the  play-scene,  whilst  Lucianus  was  reciting 
his  last  speech  and  preparing  to  poison  i\\Q  player- 
hing^  Mr.  Yandenhoif,  who  had  made  Hamlet  con- 
spicuous enough  by  his  behavior  to  withdraw  the 
eyes  of  the  whole  court  from  the  play,  and  to  fix 
them  upon  himself — notwithstanding  that  Hamlet 
had  just  previously  and  confidentially  observed  to 
his  friend  Horatio  that  his  policy  in  this  play-scene 
dictated  his  own  seeming  to  be  "  idle^^  or  listless 
and  inattentive  to  the  performance,  that  he  might, 
unnoticed^  watch  and  rivet  his  own  eyes  upon  his 
U7icle's  face — began  to  creep,  cat-like,  across  the 
stage,  and,  thus  approaching  the  footstool  of  his 
U7icle-Hng,  just  as  the  actor-murderer  had  finished 
pronouncing  his  infernal  invocation,  and  commenced 
pouring  the  poison  into  his  victim's  ear,  struck  Cla^l' 
dius  a  smart  blow  upon  his  knee  with  Ophelia''s  fan, 
and,  rising  simultaneously,  with  violent  gesticula- 
tions vociferates — 

"  He  poisons  him  in  the  garden  for  his  estate,"  etc. 

which  sent  the  JTmg  j)acking — as  well  it  might. 
Yet  how  so  discerning  and  judicious  a  student  as 


ACTORS  OF   HAMLET.  179 

Mr.  Yaudenhoff  could  feel  himself  justified  in  inno- 
vating such  an  ^''  ad  captcindiLinvulgus^^  display,  by 
makincr  Hamlet  at  this  staije  of  the  character  assault 
with  such  gross  and  personal  rudeness  the  reigning 
majesty  of  Denmark,  whilst  he  was  seated  quietly 
at  a  play  which  had  been  ostensibly  gotten  up  to 
divert  him,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  courts  I  am  quite 
puzzled  to  imagine.  Hamlet^  prior  to  the  approach 
of  the  King  and  his  courts  privately  communicates 
to  Horatio  his  object  in  reference  to  "  one  action" 
of  the  play  to  be  represented,  and  begs  his  "  heedful 
note"  of  its  effect  upon  his  imcle  j  remarking  tliat 
if  his  hidden  guilt  may  not  betray  and  expose  ^^5^?/^, 
particularly  when  the  player  shall  utter  "  one 
speech," — alluding  of  course  to  those  ''  lines  "  which 
Hamlet  himself  had  arranged  to  "  insert "  in  the 
play — he  would  conclude  that  it  must  have  been — 
*'  a  damned  Ghost  that  we  have  seen,  and  my  ima- 
ginations are  as  foul  as  Vulcan's  stithy  :  "  wliereas, 
by  such  practical  rudeness  as  Mr.  Yandenhoff  made 
Hamfdet  exhibit,  the  Klng'^s  evident  surprise  and 
abrupt  departure  might  not  unreasonably  have  been 
imputed  rather  to  the  offence  Ill's)  jyerson  had  taken, 
than  his  "  conscience  had  caught;"  besides  being 
highly  exceptionable.  That  Harnlefs  manners  coidd 
not  have  been  so  absolutely  outrageous  on  the  occa- 
sion may  fairly  be  inferred  from  his  dialogue  with 
Horatio  afterwards,  when  they  compared  notes,  and 
*'both  their  judgments  joined  in  censure  of  the 
King^s  seeming." 


180  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 
"  Didst  perceive, — upon  the  talk  of  the  poisoning  ?  " 

Bnt  I  regret,  for  the  sake  of  mj  estimate  hitherto 
of  the  taste  and  intelligence  of  a  large  audience  in 
my  native  city,  to  record  that  Mr.  Yandenhoff, 
instead  of  meeting  with  that  silence  which  liis  own 
intelligence  would  liave  interpreted  into  their  gentle 
rebuke  for  his  temerity,  was  "  most  tyrannically 
clapp'd  "  for  this  unaccountable  innovation. 

Mr.  Yandenhoff,  however,  in  Cato,  Brutus, 
Coriolanus,  and  some  other  characters,  was  excel- 
lent, and  proved  himself  to  be  a  highly-accom- 
plished tragedian. 


CHAELES  JOHN  KEAN. 

Theatre,  Haymarhet,  London,  1839. 

Charles  Kean  evidently  possesses  remarkable 
talent  and  considerable  genins,  though  of  an  order 
quite  secondary  wdien  compared  witli  that  of  his 
late  father,  Edmund  Kean,  and  is  also  inferior  in  tlie 
capabilities  of  the  face,  and  in  the  lower  tones  of  the 
voice  to  those  of  his  progenitor ;  his  hair  is  as  dark 
but  straighter  and  less  luxuriant  than  was  his 
father's;  his  forehead  broader;  his  eyes,  though 
black  and  full,  and  effective  upon  the  stage,  not  near 
so  piercing  and  brilliant ;  in  no  otlier  respect  do  I 
perceive  any  physical  resemblance  between  him 
and  his  famous  and  departed  sire.     Charles  has  a 


ACTORS  OF   HAMLET.  181 

face  wliicli  is  iiniisiially  wide  across  the  eyes  but 
tapers  down  to  a  narrow  chin ;  his  mouth  is  wide, 
and  he  has  very  white  teeth  irregularly  set  forward 
in  the  lower  jaw  and  which  impart  a  sibillatiug 
sound  to  his  enunciation  ;  his  nose  is  low  at  its 
bridge,  and  rather  pouty  and  broad  at  the  end  ;  his 
figure  is  less  compact,  and  his  height  a  little  greater 
than  were  those  of  his  father,  and  his  brows  are 
thicker  and  not  so  flexible  :  the  Elder  Kean  had  a 
straight  and  well-proportioned  nose,  and  mouth 
which  was  regular  and  with  lips  which  were  often 
remarkable  for  their  close  muscular  compression  and 
strong  expression  whenever  great  firmness  or  deter- 
mination of  purpose  were  to  be  indicated.  Charles 
Kean's  general  manner  is  easy  and  graceful ;  his 
gait,  owing  to  his  legs  being  longer  and  not  so 
straight,  but  bending  slightly  outward,  and  to  his 
frame  not  being  so  well  knit  together  as  was  his 
father's,  is  not  so  firin^  but  the  style  of  his  most 
acceptable  points,  made  in  either  of  the  characters 
wherein  I  have  seen  his  father,  makes  it  plainly 
apparent  that,  by  Art  or  Xature,  he  follows,  as  far 
as  he  is  able,  in  the  still  well-remembered  footsteps 
of  his  deservedly  illustrious  predecessor. 

Charles  Ivean's  Ilainlet^  I  regret  to  record,  disco- 
vers various  proofs  of  a  defective  ear,  by  sundry 
false  emphases,  bad  cadences,  and  misplaced  pauses  ; 
his  personation  was  remarkable  also  for  clap-trap 
efi'ects  with  which  it  superabounds ;  in  short,  it  was 
a  tissue  of  bustle,  rant,  and  posturing;   his  person 


182  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

underwent  unceasing  locomotion,  and  was  not  in 
repose  even  during  the  profoundest  meditation  of  the 
inetaplujsical  soliloquies ;  lie  lias  evidently  discovered 
that  which  pleased  best  the  demonstrative  ground- 
lings and  truckles  to  it  accordingly,  and  successfully  ; 
he  seems  less  bent  on  trying  to  inform  and  convince 
their  understandings,  than  to  "  amaze  their  very 
faculty  of  eyes  and  ears  ;"  his  philosophy  evidently 
teaches  him  to  seek  plenty  of  applause,  not  by  the 
rugged  path  of  patient  merit,  but  by  a  recourse  to 
surprises  and  slippery  tricks  in  questionable  shapes 
and  places,  and  which  he  may  eventually  find  to  be 
as  quicksands  where  he  would  establish  the  base  of 
his  fame  as  a  classic  artist,  though  they  may  seem 
evidence  of  growing  popularity  and  be  of  temporary 
advantage. 

One  of  his  most  admired  and  applauded  points 
was,  his  manner  of  rendering,  ^''  Is  it  the  KingV 
which  eifect  was  produced  by  Mr.  C.  Kean  by  mak- 
ing Hamlet^  after  he  had  thrust  violently  through 
the  arras  in  2nd  stage  entrance  left,  slide  ten  or 
twelve  feet  upon  the  floor-cloth  down  to  the  right- 
centre  of  the  stage,  and  then  and  there  utter  those 
words,  "  Is  it  the  king  V  w^ith  his  loudest  possible 
shout  of  exultation.  His  tone  and  manner  denoted 
unmistakably  an  undisguised  intention^  and  betrayed 
his  would-he-secret  and  concealed  jpurjpose^  and  was 
utterly  at  variance  with  the  pretext  he  had  the 
instant  before  adopted  to  mislead  his  mother  in 
respect  to  the  person  he  presumed  to  be  listening 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  183 

behind  the  arras,  when,  whipping  out  his  rapier  and 
thrusting  through  them,  he  had  "  killed  the  unseen 
good  old  man,"  crying  out  simultaneously — 

''  How  now !  a  rat  ? 
Dead,  for  a  ducat,  dead  I" 

Of  course,  when  Hcnnlet  searches  and  finds  after- 
wards that  he  has  slain  Polonius^  and  apostro- 
phizes— 

"  Thou  wretched,  rash,  intruding  fool ! 
I  took  thee  for  thy  better," 

he  admits  to  himself  that  he  thought  Polonius  to  be 
the  king ;  but  then  in  order  to  preserve  his  consist- 
ency previously,  his  remark  and  question — 

"  I  know  not.     Is  it  the  king  ?" 

and  that  the  horror-stricken  queen  may  still  be  kept 
in  ignorance  of  his  sinister  purpose,  should  be 
uttered  with  a  tone  of  surprise,  natural  to  a  sense  of 
one's  commission  of  some  incidental  and  uninten- 
tional mischief;  the  inquiry  of  Hamlet  should  seem 
to  his  mother  to  have  been  caused  bv  her  sudden 
and  apparent  anguish,  as  though  the  idea  but  then 
had  suggested  itself,  that  it  might  be  the  Jdncj^ 
whom  he  had  killed  by  accident,  but  who  could  have 
had  no  honorable  motive  for  hiding  there. 

But  I  have  heretofore  had  ample  evidence  that 
any  strong  effect  produced  upon  the  stage  will  be 
certain  to  be  greeted  with  loud   applause  by  the 


184  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

"barren  spectators"  who  constitute  the  great  major- 
ity of  any  audience,  and  who  are  ever  read}^  for 
excitement  and  never  stop  to  reflect  whether  the 
acting,  however  good  in  itself^  is  not  inappHcable, 
misplaced,  and  quite  inconsistent  under  the  circum- 
stances with  the  character  to  be  represented. 


GEOKGE   VANDENHOFF. 

Parh  Theatre,  New   Yorh,  1842. 

Mk.  G.  Yandenhoff  (son  of  Mr.  John  Yanden- 
hoff,  the  tragedian)  made  his  deJjut  in  America  as 
Hamlet.  Plis  complexion  is  fair,  his  eyes  blue,  and 
his  natural  countenance  is  pleasing,  but  not  capable 
of  much  variety  of  expression,  and  he  had  a  habit, 
whenever  he  would  appear  grave,  earnest,  or  severe, 
of  arching  and  contracting  his  brows  into  a  sort  of 
lacrymose  frown,  that  seems  quite  artificial,  and  as 
though  it  might  have  been  studied  before  a  looking- 
glass.  His  person  is  a  little  above  the  middle  height, 
rather  lightly  but  neatly  and  proportionately  framed, 
and  his  whole  appearance  prepossessing  ;  his  voice 
w\ns  pure,  sonorous,  and  indicated  considerable 
depth,  but  was  too  monotoned  in  level  speaking ; 
his  gestui'es  were  easy  and  rather  redundant,  though 
they  never  seemed  to  mark  particularly  the  senti- 
ment ;  and  many  of  his  attitudes  were  graceful  and 
somewhat  picturesque,  as  though  they  had  been 
carefully  studied  and  much  practised  ;  his  emphasis 


ACTOKS  OF  HAMLET.  185 

and  readings  denoted  intelligence  and  a  nice  articu- 
lation, but  his  qualities  generally  seemed  more 
suited  to  the  highest  order  of  sentimental  comedy  ; 
his  manner  wanted  weight  and  dignity  on  occasion, 
and  he  uttered  Hamlefs  philosophic  sentences  not 
as  though  they  were  spontaneous  expressions  of 
thoughts  originating  in  his  own  meditative  mind, 
but  tlie  sentiments  of  another  which  he  had  learned 
and  conned  by  rote,  and  scanned  in  his  head  rhetori- 
cally, but  wherein  his  own  heart  did  not  participate, 
nor  could  his  own  judgment  adopt  and  assume. 
The  declamatory  portions  of  the  character  were 
acceptably  recited,  but  as  a  whole,  whilst  it  secured 
general  and  patient  attention  and  occasional  appro- 
bation from  the  audience,  it  pretended  no  neio  and 
original  idea,  but  proved  at  all  points  thoroiigKly 
conventional. 

I  saw  Mr.  G.  Yandenhofl*  a  few  years  later  per- 
form 2farh  Antony  in  Julius  Ccesar  very  credita- 
bly throughout ;  whilst  the  oration  over  the  dead 
body  of  Csesar  particularly  was  pronounced  in  the 
master-like  sj)irit  of  one  evidently  confident  of  his 
own  abilities,  but  nevertheless  a  truly  accomplished 
elocutionist. 

EDWrN"   FOKEEST. 

Boioery  Theatre^  Neio   York^  1829. 

I  was  present  at  Mr.  Forrest's  original  debut  as 
Hamlet^  but   he  seemed  out   of  his  element ;    his 


186  ACTORS  OF  HAMLET. 

spirit  seemed  incapable  of  being  subdued  to  the 
normal  quality  and  meditative  propensity  of  Ham- 
lefs  pliilosopbic  mind  ;  his  iron  nerve  and  powerful 
physique  appeared  to  pant  continually  for  oppor- 
tunity or  pretexts  to  display  themselves ;  his  evident 
uneasiness  suggested  to  me  such  as  I  would  con- 
ceive natural  to  a  young  but  full-grown  and  newly- 
caged  lion  :  indeed,  it  struck  me  that  could  Mr. 
Forrest's  Hamlet  have  been,  through  some  accident, 
allowed  to  ventilate  his  own  impulses  for  a  few 
moments,  as  soon  as  his  father's  ghost  had  bidden 
him — "  Adieu  !  Adieu  !  Kemember  me  !"  he  would 
have  bounded  unceremoniously  into  the  presence  of 
his  uncle  Claudius^  and  with  the  impetuosity  of  an 
enraged  and  sinewy  athlete  have  driven  his  rapier 
tlii'ough  and  through  his  heart,  and  by  such  fore- 
closure have  ended  the  tragedy  with  his  first  act : 
in  fact,  Mr.  Forrest's  performance  of  Samlet^  though 
it  obtained  the  applause  of  the  large  majority  of  the 
audience,  was  very  unsatisfactory  to  me. 

Mr.  Forrest's  own  propria  fades  is  what  may  be 
classed  in  its  enserrible  ''  handsome,"  though  the  nose 
is  a  little  too  small,  crooked,  and  short,  to  be  sym- 
metrical ;  Nature  has  given  him  pleasing  black 
eyes,  too,  which,  however,  he  seems  not  to  have 
acquired  the  art  to  make  specially  effective  on  the 
stage — possibly  because  his  inflexible  brows,  which 
arch  low  and  near  the  bridge  of  the  nose,  impart 
when  pursed  together  a  grim  severity  to  his  counte- 
nance, thus  seemingly  rendering  it  incapable  of 


ACTORS  OF  HAMLET.  187 

mncli  variety,  or  of  sudden  alternations,  or  of  light- 
ness of  expression  ;  his  person  generally,  with  his 
ample  chest,  long  body,  short  and  Herculean-pro- 
portioned arms  and  legs,  does  not  conform  to 
the  ideal  of  an  Apollo;  nor  is  his  ease,  or  grace 
of  action,  or  carriage  of  body,  remarkable  or  con- 
ventionally well-adapted  to  represent  "  the  glass  of 
fLXshion  and  the  mould  of  form."  Mr.  Forrest's 
voice  is  strong,  but  appears  not  susceptible  of  much 
modulation,  though  his  articulation  is  good,  and  his 
general  physique  denotes  extraordinary  animal 
strength. 

Though  Mr.  Forrest's  and  my  own  notions  of  the 
character  of  Hamlet  differ  widely,  I  have,  since  the 
date  of  his  original  debut  therein,  repeatedly  seen 
portions  of  his  performance  of  Othello  with  great 
satisfaction.  I  rank  it  as  a  whole,  and  excepting 
the  late  Edmund  Keari's,  the  best  I  have  ever  seen 
in  either  hemisphere.  Mr.  Forrest  may  even  be 
said  to  be  more  "terribly  in  earnest"  in  giving  effect 
to  t\iQ  fiercer  passions,  but  is  Xean's  inferior  in  por- 
traying the  tender  qualities  of  the  Moor's  nature. 
Mr.  Forrest  inspires  more  terror  than  pity ;  though 
I  remember  on  one  occasion  particularly,  at  the 
Park  Theatre,  noticing  to  a  friend  that  "  Mr.  Forrest 
had  infused  into  his  last  act  of  Othello  a  degree  of 
manly  tenderness,  refined  sensibility,  and  touching 
melancholy,  so  true  to  l^ature  and  Art,  that  his  per- 
formance therein  afforded  me  exquisite  and  unal- 
loyed gratification." 


PART  V. 

SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 


COKRESPONDENCE 


UPON  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 


From  the  Hon.  John  Quincy  Adams,  of  the  House  of  Repre" 
sentatives,  and  an  ex- President  of  the   United  States. 

HAMLET. 

Washington,  Feb.  19,  1839. 

To  James  H.  Hackett^  Esq.^  Ne%o  Yorh  : — 

Dear  Sir  : — I  return  herewith  your  tragedy  of 
Hamlet^  with  many  thanks  for  .the  perusal  of  your 
manuscript  notes,  which  indicate  how  thoroughly 
you  have  delved  into  the  bottomless  mine  of  Shake- 
speare's genius.  I  well  remember  the  conversation, 
more  than  seven  years  by-gone,  at  Mr.  Philip  Hone's 
hospitable  table,  where,  at  the  casual  introduction 
of  the  name  of  Hamlet  the  Dane^  my  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  the  inspired  (muse  inspired)  Bard  of 
Avon,  commenced  in  childhood,  before  the  down 
liad  darkened  my  lip,  and  continued,  through  live 
of  the  seven  ages  of  the  drama  of  life,  gaining  upon 


192  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

the  judgment  as  it  loses  to  the  imagination,  seduced 
me  to  expatiate,  at  a  most  intellectual  and  lovely 
convivial  board,  upon  my  views  of  the  character  of 
Hamlet,  until  I  came  away  ashamed  of  having  en- 
grossed an  undue  proportion  of  the  conversation  to 
myself.  That  my  involuntary  effusions  and  diffu- 
sions of  mind  on  that  occasion  wxre  indulgently 
viewed  by  Mr.  Hone,  so  as  to  have  remained  with 
kindness  upon  his  memory  to  this  day,  is  a  source 
of  much  gratification  to  me,  and  still  more  pleasing 
is  it  to  me  that  he  should  have  thought  any  of  the 
observations  which  fell  from  me  at  that  time  worthy 
of  being  mentioned  to  you. 

I  look  upon  the  tragedy  of  Hamlet  as  the  master- 
piece of  the  drama — the  master-piece  of  Shakespeare 
— I  had  almost  said,  the  master-piece  of  the  human 
mind.  But  I  have  never  committed  to  writing  the 
analysis  of  the  considerations  upon  which  this  deli- 
berate judgment  has  been  formed.  At  the  table  of 
Mr.  Hone  I  could  give  nothing  but  outlines  and 
etcliings.  I  can  give  no  more  now — snatching,  as  I 
do,  from  the  ^morning  lamp,  to  commune  with  a 
lover  and  worthy  representative  of  Shakespeare 
upon  the  glories  of  the  immortal  bard.* 

What  is  tragedy  ?  It  is  an  imitative  representa- 
tion of  human  action  and  passion,  to  picrify  the 
heart  of  the  spectator  through  the  instrumentality 

*  It  was  Mr.  Adams's  custom  to  rise  at  4  a.m.,  and  dispatch  all  his 
private  affairs,  tliat  they  might  not  interfere  with  his  duties  of  the  day 
in  the  House  of  Representatives.  J.  H.  H. 


SILA.KESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  193 

of  terror  SLudpit/j.  Tliis,  in  substance,  is  tlie  defi- 
nition of  Aristotle  ;  and  Pope's  most  beautiful  lines, 
in  the  prologue  to  Oato,  are  but  an  expansion  of  the 
same  idea. 

Hamlet  is  the  personification  of  a  tnan^  in  the 
prime  of  life,  with  a  mind  cultivated  by  the  learning 
acquirable  at  an  university,  combining  intelligence 
and  sensibility  in  their  highest  degrees,  within  a 
step  of  the  highest  distinction  attainable  on  earth, 
crushed  to  extinction  by  the  pressure  of  calamities 
inflicted,  not  by  nature,  but  against  nature — not  by 
physical,  but  by  moral  evil.  Hamlet  is  the  heart 
and  soul  of  man,  in  all  their  perfection  and  all  their 
frailty,  in  agonizing  conflict  with  human  crime,  also 
in  its  highest  pre-eminence  of  guilt.  Hamlet  is  all 
heart  and  soul.  His  ruling  passions  are,  filial  afi'ec- 
tion — youthful  love — manly  ambition.  His  com- 
manding principles  are,  filial  duty — generous  friend- 
ship— love  disappointed  and  subdued — ambition  and 
life  sacrificed  to  avenge  his  father. 

Hamlefs  right  to  the  throne  has  been  violated, 
and  his  darkest  suspicions  roused  by  the  marriage 
of  his  mother  with  his  uncle  so  speedily  succeeding 
his  father's  death.  His  love  is  first  trammelled  by 
the  confiicting  pride  of  his  birth  and  station  operat- 
ing upon  his  ambition,  and  although  he  has  ^'  made 
many  tenders  of  his  aff'ection"  to  Ophelia^  and 
"hath  importun''d  her  with  love  in  honorable 
fashion,"  yet  he  has  made  no  proposal  of  marriage 
to  her — he  has  promised  her  nothing  but  love,  and, 

9 


194  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

cautioned  both  bj  her  brother  and  her  father,  slie 
meets  the  advances  of  Hamlet  with  repulsion.  In- 
stead of  attributing  this  to  its  true  cause,  he  thinks 
she  spurns  his  tenderness.  In  his  enumeration 
of  the  sufferings  which  stimulate  him  to  suicide,  ho 
names  "  the  pangs  of  despised  love,"  and  his  first 
experiment  of  assumed  madness  is  made  upon  her. 
He  treats  her  with  a  revolting  mixture  of  ardent 
passion,  of  gross  indelicacy,  and  of  rudeness  little 
short  of  brutality — at  one  moment  he  is  worshipping 
at  her  feet — at  the  next,  insulting  her  with  coarse 
indecency — at  the  third,  taunting  her  with  sneering 
and  sarcastic  advice  to  go  to  a  nunnery.  And  is 
this  the  language  of  splendid  intellect  in  alliance 
with  acute  feeling  ?  Aye — under  the  unsupportable 
pressure  of  despised  love,  combined  with  a  throne 
lost  by  usurpation,  and  a  father  murdered  by  a 
mother  and  an  uncle,  an  incestuous  marriage 
between  the  criminals,  and  the  apparition,  from 
the  eternal  world,  of  his  father's  spirit,  commanding 
him  to  avenge  the  deed. 

The  revelation  from  the  ghost  caps  the  climax  of 
calamity.  It  unsettles  that  ardent  and  meditative 
mind — you  see  it  in  the  tone  of  levity  instantly 
assumed  upon  the  departure  of  the  "  perturbed  spirit " 
— you  see  it  in  the  very  determination  to  "  put  on  an 
antic  disposition."  It  is  the  expedient  of  a  deadly, 
but  irresohde  purpose.  He  w411  execute  the  com- 
mand of  his  father,  but  he  will  premeditate  the  time, 
the  place,  the  occasion,  and  to  fore-arrange  the  most 


SHAKESPEKEAN   SUBJECTS.  195 

convenient  0})portunitj,  will  feign  occasional  mad- 
ness with  intervals  of  clear  and  steady  rational  con- 
versation. And  thus  it  is  that  "  the  native  hue  of 
resolution  is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of 
thought." 

This  perpetual  action  and  reaction  between  the 
mind  and  the  heart ;  the  feeling  spurring  him  on, 
and  the  reflection  holding  him  back,  constitute  that 
most  admirable  portrait  of  human  nature,  in  its 
highest  estate  little  lower  than  angels,  little  above 
the  Hottentots  of  the  African  cape,  which  pervades 
every  part  of  the  character  of  Hamlet.  The  habi- 
tual turn  of  his  mind  is  to  profound  meditation.  He 
reflects  upon  life,  upon  death,  upon  the  nature  of 
man,  upon  the  physical  composition  of  the  universe. 
He  indulges  in  minute  criticism  upon  the  perform- 
ance of  the  players  ;  he  reads  and  comments  upon  a 
satire  of  Juvenal ;  he  quibbles  with  a  quibbling 
grave-digger ;  commemorates  the  convivial  attrac- 
tions of  an  old  jovial  table  companion,  whose  bones 
the  good  man  Delver  turns  up  in  digging  the  grave 
for  Oj)helia^  and  philosophizes  upon  the  dust  of 
imperial  Csesar,  metamorphosed  into  the  bung  of  a 
beer  barrel.  During  all  this  time  he  is  charged 
with  the  command  of  his  father,  rising  from  the 
dead,  to  take  the  life  of  his  murderer,  to  execute 
divine  justice,  in  the  punishment  of  his  crime.  He 
is  firmly  resolved  to  execute  this  command — has 
frequent  opportunities  for  the  execution  of  it, 
w^hich  he  suffers  to  escape  him,  and  is  constantly 


196  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

reproacliiiig  himself  for  his  ddays.  He  shrewdly 
detects  and  ingeniously  disconcerts  the  practices  of 
the  murderers  against  his  life ;  discloses  to  his 
mother  his  knowledge  of  her  guilt.  Kills  Polonius 
most  ra^^Ay  ^  ^pretending  to  kill  a  rat,  and  intending 
to  kill  the  king,  whom  he  supposes  to  be  the  person 
behind  the  arras,  and  to  have  been  there  listening 
and  overhearing  his  terrible  expostulations  with  his 
mother.  When  he  discovers  that  the  person  he  has 
killed  was  not  the  king,  but  Polonius^  instead  of 
compunction  and  remorse,  he  begins  by  a  cruel  joke 
upon  the  dead  body,  and  finishes  by  an  apologetic 
burst  of  indignation  at  the  wretched,  rash,  intruding 
fool,  who  had  hidden  himself  behind  the  arras  to 
overhear  the  interview  with  his  mother.  Yet  the 
man  whom  he  has  killed  is  the  father  of  Oj)helia^ 
whom  he  loves  to  distraction,  and  w^hose  madness 
and  death  are  immediate  consequences  of  this  mur- 
der of  her  father.  Shakespeare  has  taken  care  not 
to  bi-ing  Ramlet  and  Ophelia  into  the  presence  of 
each  other  after  this  event.  He  takes  no  notice  at 
the  grave-digging  scene,  that  the  grave  over  which 
he  so  pathetically  and  humorously  disserts  upon  tlie 
bones  of  Yorick,  the  king's  jester,  was  about  to 
receive  the  corpse  of  Ophelia.*  Afterwards,  at  the 
funeral  scene,  he  treats  Laertes  as  roughly,  but 
finally  apologizes  to  him,  and  desires  him  to  attri- 
bute his  violence  and  unkind  treatment  to  his  mad- 

*  Hamlet  did  not  tlieu  know  of  it. — J.  H.  H. 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  197 

ness.  Tlie  reasoning  faculty  of  Hamlet  is  at  once 
sportive,  sorrowful,  indignant,  and  melanchol3\  His 
reflections  always  take  tlie  tinge  of  the  passion 
under  which  he  is  laboring,  but  his  conduct  is 
always  governed  by  the  iTnjpulse  of  the  moment. 
Hence  his  madness,  as  you  have  remarked,  is  some- 
times feigned,  and  sometimes  real.  His  feigned 
madness,  Polonius^  w^ithout  seeing  through  it,  per- 
ceives has  method  in  it.  His  real  madness  is  toioer- 
ing  passion^  transient — momentary — the  furo?'  hrevis 
which  was  the  ancient  definition  of  anger.  It  over- 
wdielms  at  once  the  brightest  genius,  the  soundest 
reason,  and  the  kindliest  heart  that  was  ever 
exhibited  in  combination  upon  the  stage.  It 
is  man  in  the  ideal  perfection  of  his  intellectual 
and  moral  nature,  struggling  with  calamity  beyond 
his  power  to  bear,  inflicted  by  the  crime  of  his 
fellow  man — struggling  w^ith  agonizing  energy 
against  it — sinking  under  it  to  extinction.  What 
can  be  more  terrific  ?  What  can  be  more 
piteous  ? 

This  is  the  hasty  outline  of  my  view  of  the  charac- 
ter of  Hamlet.  I  regret  that  time  will  not  allow  me 
to  fill  the  canvas  with  lights  and  shades  borrowed 
from  the  incidents  and  dialogue  of  the  play.  But 
after  bestowing  so  much  of  my  own  tediousness 
upon  you,  I  can  only  repeat  my  thanks  for  the  peru- 
sal of  your  own  very  ingenious  comments  upon  this 
incomparable  tragedy,  and  add  the  assurance  of  my 
best  wishes  for  your  health  and  happiness,  and  of 


198  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

my  cordial   sympatliies  with  your  devotion  to  the 
memory  of  the  immortal  bard. 

.Tr^HN  QuiNCY  AdA3IS. 

iT.  B.  AVhen  the  foregoing  reached  my  hand,  I 
was  preparing  to  embark  for  England. 

Immediately  npon  receipt  of  Mr.  Adams's  letter 
I  sent  it  to  Mr.  Philip  Hone  (ex-Mayor  of  E'ew 
York),  and  received  from  him  the  following  : — 

Thursday,  7th  March,  1839. 

Dear  Sir  : — I  herewith  return  to  yon  the  delight- 
ful letter  of  Mr.  Adams,  of  which  (anticipating 
your  consent)  I  have  kept  a  copy.  I  am  fortunate 
in  having  been,  incidentally,  the  means  of  furnish- 
ing you  with  such  a  treasure.  What  an  astonishing 
man  this  is  !  Engaged  in  all  important  public  mea- 
sures— never  out  of  his  seat  in  Congress — working 
more  laboriouslj"  in  anything  he  undertakes  than 
any  other  person  I  ever  knew,  acquainted  with  all 
subjects,  and  thoroughly  with  most;  and  trilling 
like  a  youthful  poet  when  he  first  begins  to  "  lisp  in 
numbers  "  with  subjects  that  other  wise  men  disdain 
to  stoop  to  ;  such  are  the  pursuits  of  this  truly  great 
man.  It  is  like  the  lordly  eagle  coming  down  from 
his  ''  pride  of  place  "  to  sip  with  the  humming-bird 
the  sweets  of  every  flower.  But  such  subjects  as 
this  treated  of  in  your  letter  constitute  the  relaxa- 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  199 

tion  of  Mr.  Adams's  mind.     I  wisli  he  would   frive 
us  more  of  Hamlet  and  "  such  like  things  !  "    • 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

Philip  Hone. 

James  H.  Hackett,  Esq. 


Mr.  Hadceti  to  Mr.  Adams. 


22  Charlotte  Street,  Bedford  Square,  ) 
London,  24th  July,  1839.      ) 


To  the  Hon.  John  Quincy  Adams,  Boston :       • 

Dear  Sir — I  have  at  length  an  opportunity  to 
acknowledge  jour  obliging  favor  of  19th  Feb.  last, 
which  was  duly  received  by  me  at  Kew  York,  prior 
to  my  sailing  thence  for  this  coimtry.  That  you 
should  have  esteemed  me  worthy  of  such  pains  will 
remain  graven  on  my  memory  as  one  of  the  most 
gratifying  incidents  of  my  life,  and  your  autograph 
document  shall  be  treasured  in  my  archives. 

The  elements  of  which  that  matchless  character, 
Sliakespeare's  Hamlet,  is  compounded,  are  generally 
as  justly  analyzed  by  you,  as  they  are  throughout 
beautifully  described ;  but  there  are  some  causes 
you  impute  as  contributing  essentially  to  his  mad- 
ness, about  which  I  beg  leave  to  differ,  and  quote 
here  and  there  a  sentence  of  yours,  the  better  to 
refresh  your  memory.  '''Love  disappointed  and 
svhdued^  ]^ow  I  have  always  considered  filial 
piety,  in  both  Hamlet  and  Ophelia,  the  most  promi- 
nently developed  trait  of  character  ;  a  father's  fate, 


200  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

in  botli  cases,  operates  so  powerfully  on  their  sensi- 
tive natures,  as  finally  to  overthrow  the  seat  of 
reason  ;  their  love  for  each  other  was  quite  second- 
ary ;  in  pursuance  of  his  voluntary  oath  to  the  Ghost, 
that  "  thy  remembrance  all  alone  shall  live,"  &c., 
"unmixed  with  baser  matter,  Hajnlefs  first  scheme  is 
to  feign  madness,  and  he  begins  "  to  put  an  antic 
disposition  on"  in  the  presence  of  Ophelia,  for 
whom  he  was  reputed  to  entertain  a  tender  afi:ec- 
tion,  in  order,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  she  may  (as 
she^oes)  tell  her  father,  and  that  Poloniiis's  garrulity 
may  advertise  the  whole  court  of  his  beiijg  mad  for 
her  love — a  cause  and  efi'ect  calculated  to  mislead 
and  calm  the  apprehensions  of  the  guilty  iisurjier, 
and  better  enable  Hamlet  to  scrutinize  his  unguarded 
behavior  thereafter. 

Had  Oj^helia^s  love  for  HaMet  been  strong,  she 
would  naturally  not  have  yielded  so  readily  to  be- 
come the  medium  of  assisting  the  espionage  of  her 
parasitical  father  and  the  complotting  king,  when  it 
is  proposed,  in  her  presence,  to  "let  her  loose  to 
Hamlet^^  whilst  they  watch  them  behind  the  arras  ; 
and  here  let  me  remark  upon  your  sentence — "  he 
treats  her  with  a  revolting  mixture  of  ardent  passion, 
of  gross  indelicacy,  and  of  rudeness  little  short  of 
hriitaUty  " — that  from  his  previous  conduct  "  when 
she  .was  sewicg  in  her  chamber,"  he  knows  she 
esteems  him  7nad,  and  will  not  feel  wounded  at  any- 
thing lie  may  say.  For  example,  when  he  is  most 
censorious  of  her  ftither,  she  prays,  "  Oh,  help  him, 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  201 

you  sweet  heavens  !"  Further  extenuation  may  be 
found  in  another,  and  not  unreasonable  sttpposition^ 
that,  at  tlie  thne^  Hamlet  had  some  hirking  sus- 
picion of  her  unfair  position  ;  else,  why  change  his 
tone  so  suddenly  from  the  incipient  complimentary 
supplication,  "  Kymph  in  thy  orisons  be  all  my  sins 
remembered !"  to  such  pointed  rebuke.  When 
asked — "  Are  you  honest  .^"  she  evades  a  categorical 
answer  by  "  My  lord  !"  then  he  follows — "  Are  you 
fair  .^"  and  explains  to  her  why,  if  she  is  both,  and 
would  preserve  her  honesty  from  the  contaminating 
influences  of  beauty,  she  should  not  admit  them  to 
any  discourse  with  each  other,  "  because  the  power 
of  heauty  will  sooner  transform  honesty  from  what 
it  is  into  a  [corrupt]  bawd,  than  the  force  of  honesty 
will  translate  beauty  into  his  [honesty's]  likeness, 
now  the  time  gives  proof."  (As  here  is  she  herself, 
for  instance,  allowing  the  effect  of  her  heauty  upon 
him  to  be  used  by  her  father  for  a  sinister  purpose, 
and  at  the  expense  of  her  honesty.)  He  "  did  love 
her  once,"  but  upon  consideration  "  loved  her  not," 
finding  that  she  has  inherited  so  much  of  her  "  old 
stock"  (viz.  her  father's  courtier-like  insincerity),  as 
to  render  her  nature  incapable  of  thorough  honesty ; 
"for  virtue  cannot  so  inoculate  our  old  stock  but 
we  shall  relish  of  it."  "  We  are  arrant  knaves 
all  !"  The  aptitude  of  his  epigrammatic  sentiments, 
whether  from  accident  or  design,  evidently  embar- 
rasses and  betrays  her  into  an  absolute  falsehood ; 
for  when  questioned,  "  Where  is  your  father  ?"  she 

9* 


202  SHAKESPERE.AJS"  SUBJECTS. 

answers,  ^'At  liome  !"  knowing  Polonius  to  be  a 
covert  listener  to  them  at  that  moment ;  and,  by 
the  way,  be  it  remembered  of  thi-s  scene,  that  the 
Mng^  who  witnessed  it,  and  was  a  keen  observer, 
remarks — "  Love  ! — his  aftections  do  not  that  way 
tend  !"  and  also  of  her  when  mad,  he  says,  "  This  is 
the  poison  of  deep  grief;  it  springs  all  from  the 
father's  death."  In  short,  Ophelia  never  in  her 
madness  alludes  to  Hamlet^  nor  does  he  but  once, 
subsequently,  refer  to  his  love  for  her^  and  then  only 
when  chance  informed  him  of  her  death,  and  had 
brought  him  to  her  burial,  where,  in  a  fit  of  tempo- 
rary derangement,  he  lets  the  bravery  of  Laertes^ 
grief  "  put  him  into  a  towering  passion,"  which  he 
afterwards,  by  way  of  apology  to  him,  "  proclaims 
— was  madness." 

Permit  me  to  quote  you  further  : — 

"  His  love  is  first  trammelled  hy  the  confiicting 
pride  of  his  hirth  and  station  operating  ivpon  his 
airibitiony 

As  regards  Hanilefs  ambition— in  the  course  of 
what  he  stigmatizes  to  the  courtiers  "  as  their  trade" 
with  him,  he  certainly  pretends  to  them  his  cause 
of  madness  is,  "  I  lack  advancement !  "  but  this  he 
says  after  he  has  discovered  the  necessity  of  having 
an  eye  of  them,  and  a  determination  to  "trust 
them  "  only  as  he  would  "adders  that  have  fangs ;  " 
for  in  hi^  first  interview  on  their  arrival,  and  before 
he  inquires  whether  they  have  not  been  "  sent  for," 
he  welcomes  his  old  schoolfellows  with  "  Excellent 


SHAKESPEREAX   SUBJECTS.  203 

good  friends !  "  and  nnreservedl j  scouts  tlicir  notions 
of  liis  being  ambitious  because  he  esteems  Denmark 
a  prison  ;  and  wlien  they  suggest,  "  it  is  too  narrow 
for  your  mind,"  adds — "  oh,  God !  I  could  be 
bounded  in  a  nutshell,  and  count  myself  a  king  of 
iniinite  space,  but  that  I  have  had  bad  dreams  " — 
in  fact,  had  he  not  had  ''  bad  dreams  "  concerning 
his  father's  fate,  I  doubt  if  disappointed  ambition 
had  ever  caused  him  to  express  regret,  much  less 
urged  him  to  any  active  measures  about  his  deferred 
succession  to  the  throne  of  Denmark.  You  continue 
— ''' and  although  he  has  made  i/iany  tenders  of  his 
affection  to  Ojyhelia^  and  hath  iynjportuned  her  vnth 
love^  in  honorahle  fashion^  yet  he  has  made  no  pro- 
posal of  marriage  to  her — he  horS  proinised  her 
nothing  hut  loveP 

To  the  consummation  of  his  love  by  marriage^ 
his  queen  mother  refers  when  scattering  flowers 
during  OpItelkt'S  obsequies — 

"  I  hop'd  thou  should' st  have  been  my  Hamlet's  luife^ 
I  thought  thy  bride-bed  to  have  deck'd,  sweet  maid ! 
And  not  have  strew' d  thy  grave  ;  " 

the  inference  is,  that  the  only  reason  for  a  truce  to 
his  love  pursuit  was  its  interference  with  a  para- 
mount consideration — the  performance  of  his  vow 
to  his  father^  s  unrevenged  ^ndi  perturbed  spirit. — 

But  you  say,  "  cautioned  hoth  hy  her  hrother  and 
her  father^  she  meets  tJie  advances  of  Hamlet  with 
repidsion.'^'' 


204  SnAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

Her  brother's  caution  arose,  not  from  a  suspicion 
that  Hamlefs  ambitious  pride  of  "  birth  and  sta- 
tion" would  hinder  their  marriage,  but  that  the 
"  state  "  on  which  it  depended  might  not  confirm 
his  choice,  and  adds, 

''  Then  weigh  what  loss  your  honor  may  sustain, 
If  with  too  credent  ear  you  hst  his  songs ; 
Or  lose  your  heart ;  or  your  chaste  treasure  open 
To  his  unmaster'd  importunity." 

Her  father's  command,  as  he  afterwards  confesses, 
sprang  from  his  "  fear  that  Hamlet  did  but  trifle, 
and  meant  to  wreck  thee,"  therefore  his  '^  love  in 
honorable  fashion  and  countenanced  with  all  the 
holy  vows  of  heaven,"  Polonius  calls  "  springes  to 
catch  woodcocks,"  and  charges  her,  "  Do  not  believe 
his  vows,"  to  which  she  replies,  "  I  shall  obey,  my 
lord,"  and  so  she  does — making  it  evident  that  hoth 
their  loves  were  subservient  to  filial  duty  /  but  the 
nicest  search  cannot  detect  a  line  indicating  that 
his  heart  contained  a  scrupulous  thought  that 
Ojphelia  was  beneath  his  station,  nor  that  the 
repulsion  of  his  letters,  or  denial  of  his  access,  or 
attempted  return  of  his  gifts,  was  a  source  of  any 
serious  disappointment  to  him,  or,  as  you  think, 
"o/*  acute  feeling — imder  the  insupportable  pressure 
of  despised  love  j''''  inasmuch  as  he  never  subse- 
quently refers  to  either  circumstance  ; — you  also 
say,  "  instead  of  attrihuting  his  repulsion  to  its  true 
cause,  he  thinks  she  spurns  his  tenderness  j  in  his 


SHAKESrEREAN   SUBJECTS.  205 

enumeration  of  the  sufferings  whieh  stimulate  to 
suicide^  he  names  the  pangs  of  desj)ised  loveP 

"  The  pangs  of  despised  love,"  in  my  humble 
opinion^  have  no  more  immediate  reference  to  his 
own  case  than  "  the  law's  delay,  the  insolence  of 
office,"  and  the  spurns  and  other  vexations  to  which 
all  "  flesh  is  heir ; "  and  one  fact  that  particularly 
weakens  his  self-application  of  this  line  is,  that  the 
folio  edition  of  1623  (now  received  as  the  best 
authenticated)  reads,  not  "  despised,^''  but  "  disprized 
love :  "  a  distinction,  to  my  thinking,  not  without  a 
difference,  though  corrupters  of  the  text  since  have 
not  even  deigned  an  excnse  for  their  license  ; — for 
as  love  begets  love,  and  hate,  his  kind,  so  love  that 
finds  itself  despised  instead  of  returned  by  its  object 
soon  flies  the  human  breast,  and  its  void  hecoraes 
supplied  by  rank  hatred  /  but  the  pangs  of  disprized 
love  are  those  of  one  whose  spirit  sinks  and  writhes 
under  the  pride-stung  consciousness  that  the  being 
towards  whom  their  own  heart  yearns,  disprizes 
their  strong  affection  ; — it  is  this  species  of  love 
which,  unvalued  or  entertained  with  indifference, 
cannot  be  diverted  or  superseded,  or,  as  if  despised^ 
find  a  relief  in  hatred — but  brooding  over  its  own 
subtile  mortification,  produces  that  poignant  melan- 
choly which,  rankling  in  a  proud  soul,  may  stimu- 
late to  suicide. 

A  marked  characteristic  from  the  outset  in  Ham- 
let^ is,  self-dissatisfaction — 


206  SIIAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

"  The  time  is  out  of  joint — 0  cursed  spite, 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right." 

He  is  a  creature  of  impulse  ;  lie  cannot  take  the 
life  of  the  Regicide  when  in  his  power ;  his  hea,rt 
revolts  at  so  cold-hlooded  a  deed,  thongh  just ;  he 
puts  np  his  sword,  and  tries  to  find  an  excuse  to 
himself  in  the  refined  notion  that  it  would  be  "  hire 
and  salary,  not  revenge,"  to  kill  his  uncle  whilst 
"  praying  and  purging  his  soul,"  who  took  his 
father's,  unprepared,  "  with  all  his  crimes  broad- 
blown  ;"  without  excitement,  his  nature  is  prone  to 
meditation,  and  all  his  philosophical  reasoning  is 
upon  his  wrongs  and  their  villanous  causer.  The 
player,  whose  whole  function  readily  yielded  to  his 
conceits — the  equanimity  of  Horatio^  in  whose 
nature  the  "blood  and  judgment"  are  so  enviably 
"  co-mingled" — all  contrasts  serve  but  to  paralyze 
his  own  energies,  and  almost  blunt  his  very  purpose, 
instead  of  arousing  him  to  indignant  action.  Thus 
"  conscience  makes  a  coward"  of  Hamlet^  who  pos- 
sesses the  moral  principle  of  a  hero,  but  is  deficient 
in  physical  nerve  requisite  to  avenge  coolly  and 
resolutely  his  father's  murder — an  attainment  he 
seems  to  despair  of,  after  discovering  his  fatal  mis- 
take in  killing  Polonius  /  and  it  is  after  that  event^ 
that  the  tumult  created  in  his  sensitive  soul  reaches 
its  climax  ;  and  the  mind,  which  though  hitherto 
predisposed  has  exhibited  but  counterfeit  frenzy^ 
breaks  forth  at  intervals  of  sxibsequent  excitement^ 
into  paroxysms  of  decided  madness. 


SIIAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  207 

But  the  only  excuse  I  can  offer  to  yon,  for  permit 
ting  my  love  of  the  snbject  to  render  me  so  diffuse ^ 
is,  that  I,  too,  "  from  boyhood,"  have  been  "  enthusi- 
astic" in  relation  to  this  character,  and  have  habitu- 
ated myself  for  years  to  ponder  over  its  merits — as 
a  miser  would  over  his  gold — collating  the  earliest 
editions  of  this  play,  and  searching  the  accurimlated 
annotations  of  its  numerous  critics — many  of  whom, 
in  attempting  to  explain,  have  often  only  mystified 
the  meaning  of  a  clear  original  text,  by  alterations, 
omissions,  and  substitutions,  and  shown  themselves 
"ignorant  as  vain,"  and  as  wide  of  the  author's 
design,  and  as  vexations  to  every  true  lover  of  the 
bard,  as  rriiist  be  some  of  the  actors  of  our  time, 
who  exhibit  to  audiences,  seemingly  "  capable  of 
nothing  but  inexplicable  dumb  show  and  noise,"  a 
sort  of  coiwentional^  stage-leau-ideal  of  Hamlet, 
overflowing  with  hustle^  starts,  and  rant,  and  entirely 
destitute  of  that  oneditative  and  jyhilosophic  rejpose, 
which  Shahes^eare  has  made  the  leading  feature  of 
the  character. 

Hoping  at  no  distant  day  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
a  "  large  discourse"  with,  you,  in  person,  about 
Samlet,  and  that  your  useful  life,  with  continued 
health  of  body  and  vigor  of  mind,  may  be  pro- 
longed for  many  years, 

I  remain,  honored  sir, 

Your  humble  servant,  ever, 

Jas.  H.  Hackett. 


208  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

I  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting  daily  at  the  Gar- 
rick  Club,  London,  Mr.  James  Smith,  one  of 
the  brothers  who  were  authors  of  the  celebrated 
'''Rejected  Addresses^  I  submitted  to  his  perusal 
Mr.  Adams's  letter,  dated  19th  February,  1839, 
together  with  my  reply,  dated  24tli  July  ensuing, 
which  he  returned  with  a  note  of  which  what  fol- 
lows is  a  copy. 

27  Craven  Street,  ) 

Thursday,  15th  August,  1839.  \ 

Many  thanks,  my  dear  sir,  for  the  Lithographic 
Correspondence  between  yourself  and  the  ex-Presi- 
dent, Mr,  Adams,  upon  the  subject  of  Hamlet. 
That  gentleman's  notion  of  the  character  is  inge- 
nious :  but  yours  is  (to  quote  the  words  of  Osric) 
"  a  palpable  hit." 

Yours  very  truly, 

James  Smith. 

Mr.  Smith  intimated  his  desire  that  I  should  for- 
ward to  his  brother  Horatio  at  Brighton^  where  he 
resided,  copies  also  of  the  same  correspondence, 
which  I  did  accordingly,  and  received  from  him  the 
folio  win  2:  letter  : 


'O 


12  Cavendish  Place,  26  September,  1839. 
Dear  Sir — ^I  feel  much  flattered  by  your  obliging 
letter  and  its  very  interesting  inclosures,  wdiich  w^ill 
be  preserved  with  care  as  a  valuable  addition  to  the 


SHxVKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  209 

contents  of  my  portfolio.  How  inexlianstible  are 
tlie  j^leasures  afforded  by  our  Immortal  Bard,  since 
the  most  attractive  portions  of  our  current  literature 
are  the  endless  study  of  his  characters,  and  the  ex- 
pansion of  his  illimitable  ideas.  You  must  have 
bestowed  much  thought  indeed  upon  the  character 
of  Hamlet^  and  I  incline  to  side  with  you,  wherever 
you  are  opposed  to  the  views  of  the  enlightened 
and  venerable  Mr.  Adams.  Schlegel's  critique  upon 
Hamlet  is  perhaps  the  most  original  and  conclusive 
that  has  yet  been  published,  and  how  happy  is  his 
image  of  the  delicate  vase  being  shattered  by  the 
expansion  of  the  plant  committed  to  it ! 

As  an  ardent  admirer  of  America  and  its  noble 
institutions,  I  am  ever  proud  to  make  acquaintance 
with  your  countrymen,  and  I  much  regret  that  my 
absence  from  Brighton  prevented  my  paying  my 
respects  to  Mr.  Willis  during  his  visit. 

Pray  command  my  services  here  if  they  can  be 
made  available,  and  believe  me  with  many  thanks, 
Your  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

HoEATio  Smith. 

James  H.  Hackett,  Esq. 

I  was  indebted  to  my  friend  Mr.  James  Fenimore 
Cooper,  in  18tt4,  for  an  introduction  (by  letter  from 
INew  York)  to  the  Hon.  Charles  Augustus  Murray^ 
then  Master  of  the  Queen's  household.  Mr.  Murray 
had  visited  America  whilst  I  was  abroad,  and  by 
his  intelligence  and  very  agreeable  social  manners 


210  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

liad  made  many  strong  personal  friends  in  the 
United  States.  He  made  a  tour  through  the  "West- 
ern States,  and  afterwards  wrote  his  "  Prairie 
Bird:' 

He  is  a  younger  son  of  the  Earl  of  Dunmore.  I 
loaned  him  for  perusal  my  notes  and  comments 
upon  Hamlet  and  Lear^  and  upon  some  of  their 
stage-representatives,  which  he  returned  with  a  let- 
ter, of  which  the  following  is  a  copy. 

Buckingham  Palace,  January  30,  1845. 
My  deak  Sm  : — I  beg  to  return  you  your  notes 
on  Lear  and  Hamlet  with  many  thanks :  it  would 
be  impertinent  in  me  to  pretend  to  any  opinion  on 
the  professional  peculiarities  of  most  of  the  parties 
referred  to,  as  I  have  had  few  if  any  opportunities 
of  seeing  them  on  the  stage ;  but  I  can  truly  say 
that  many  of  the  thoughts  and  reflections  on  the 
intention  and  conception  of  the  Great  Dramatist 
seem  to  me  extremely  just,  discriminating,  and  well 
defined :  I  only  regret  that  my  early  departure* 
will  prevent  my  having  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them 
embodied  in  the  person  of  their  author  next  month 
on  the  boards  of  Covent  Garden. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 

Yery  truly  yours, 
Chas.  a.  Muerat. 

*  Mr.  Murray  bad  just  been  appointed  by  the  Queen  Her  Britannic 
Majesty's  Consul  to  Egypt,  and  had  resigned  his  position  as  Eqiierry 
to  Prince  Albert. 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  211 

I  originally  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of 
Serge-ant  (afterwards  Sir  Thomas  Noon)  Talfourd 
at  the  Garrick  Club,  London,  where  we  used  to 
meet  often  and  chat  familiarly,  and  whence  we 
occasionally  proceeded  together  to  one  or  other  of 
the  theatres  to  witness  any  extraordinary  perfor 
mance.  He  had  frequently  referred  to  my  cor- 
respondence with  ex-President  Adams  respecting 
Hamlet,  and  I  loaned  him  my  volume  of  notes, 
comments,  and  criticisms  uj^on  the  actors,  which,  as 
I  knew  his  engrossing  professional  occupation,  I 
requested  him  to  retain  and  look  through  at  his 
entire  convenience  and  intervals  of  leisure.  Upon 
its  return  it  was  accompanied  by  a  note,  whereof 
the  following  is  a  copy. 

Sergeant's  Inx,  23cl  June,  1845. 
My  dear  Sir  : — I  return  your  manuscript  with 
my  best  thanks.  I  regret  that  the  very  anxious 
trials  in  which  I  am  engaged  at  this  season  has  not 
permitted  me  to  contemplate  with  the  attention  the 
subject  deserves  your  delightful  recollections;  but 
I  have  seen  enough  of  them  to  feel  that  they  are 
among  the  most  intellectual  the  stage  can  give  a 
nation. 

Believe  me  I  remain,  my  dear  sir, 
Yery  truly  yours, 

T.  :^r.  Talfoued. 

J.  H.  Hackett,  Esq. 


212  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 


ORIGINAL  IN  MY  PORTFOLIO. 


Copy  of  the  last  Letter  received  from  the  Honorable  John  Quincy 
Adams,  Ex-President  of  the  United  States. 

Quincy,  4  Nov.  1845. 
To  James  H.  Hackett^  JEsq. 

Tkemont  House,  Boston. 

My  Dear  Sir — I  return  herewith  the  very  inte- 
resting vohime  of  your  manuscript  notes  upon 
Shakespeare,  and  upon  the  representation  of  several 
of  the  persons  of  his  Drama  by  sundry  eminent  per- 
formers of  our  cotemporaries. 

I  thank  you  for  the  privilege  of  perusing  these 
notes  and  for  your  letter,  and,  in  conformity  with 
your  request,  I  inclose  herewith  and  ask  your  ac- 
ceptance of  a  few  scattered  leaves,  containing 
remarks  of  mine  upon  Othello^  Romeo  and  Juliet^ 
and  Lear.^  They  were  written  in  letters  to  a  friend 
who  thouglit  them  worthy  of  publication  with  my 
consent,  although  by  many  of  their  readers  they 
have  been  deemed  paradoxical,  perhaps  heretical. 
The  remarks  upon  the  character  of  Desdemona  have 
been  thought  by  many  of  her  admirers,  unreasona- 
bly severe,  and  perhaps  the  opposition  they  have 
encountered  may  have  tended  to  confirm  me  in  my 
own  opinions.     Mrs.  Inchbald's  almost  adoration  of 

*  Since  hound  hereinafter. — J.  H.  H. 


SHAKESPEKEAN   SUBJECTS.  213 

the  cuuniiig  ^  that's  "married  to  Oiltello^'* 

and  Dr.  Johnson's  grave  admiration  of  the  artless 
simplicity  of  the  "  super-subtle  Yenetian,"  are 
strangely  at  variance  with  my  estimation  of  the 
sound  canons  of  criticism.  The  same  Dr.  Johnson, 
in  his  life  of  Dryden^  says,  that  when  hard  pressed 
by  the  critics  of  his  time,  upon  the  immorality  of  his 
comedies,  as  a  last  resort  he  turned  upon  his  accusers 
and  denied  that  a  comic  poet  was  under  any  obliga- 
tion to  preach  morality.  Pope,  however,  is  not  of 
the  same  opinion,  with  regard  to  tragedy. 

'*  To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art, 
To  raise  the  genius  and  to  mend  the  heart. 
To  make  mankind  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o'er  each  scene  and  be  what  they  behold. 
For  this,  the  Tragic  Muse  first  had  the  stage, 
Commanding  tears  to  stream  thro'  every  age. 
Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept, 
And  foes  to  virtue  wondered  why  they  wept." 

Tragedy,  then,  is,  in  its  nature,  pre-eminently 
devoted  to  Morals ;  but  when,  in  one  of  the  inclosed 
papers,  I  said  that  in  the  days  of  manhood  I  had 
studied  Shakespeare  chiefly  as  a  teacher  of  morals,  I 
was  answered,  after  the  manner  of  Dryden,  that  this 
was  degrading  Shakespeare  to  the  level  of  Esop. 

In  France,  the  theatre  is  sometimes  made  the 
school  of  Politics,  and  in  England  it  would  have 

*  A  word  which  his  daughter  could  not  be  expected  to  write — thero 
fore  omitted. 


214  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

been  made  so,  but  for  the  counter-check  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  license.  In  the  month,  I  think,  of 
April,  1TS5,  I  was  present  in  the  Cathedral  church 
of  Notre  Dame,  and  witnessed  a  solemn  procession 
of  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  then  called  "  Louis  le  bien 
faisant,"  with  all  his  Court  to  return  thanks  to 
Almighty  God  in  His  Holy  Temple  for  the  birth  of 
the  Duke  of  E^ormandy,  his  second  son,  who,  not 
long  afterwards,  by  the  decease  of  his  elder  brother, 
became  the  Dauphin  of  France,  and  was  the  hapless 
child,  who,  a  few  years  later,  perished  an  apprentice 
to  a  shoemaker,  under  the  discipline  of  Kevolu- 
tionary  France.  The  Bourbon  family  and  their  ad- 
herents call  him  "  Louis  the  Seventeenth,"  and  his 
fate,  in  the  vicissitudes  of  human  life,  closely  resem- 
bles that  of  the  person  called  "  Edward  the  Fifth," 
in  the  History  of  England.  The  solemn  procession 
of  the  absolute  monarch  of  France  to  the  Te  Deum 
of  that  day,  made  a  deep  impression  upon  my  mind. 
More  than  six  years  before  I  had  witnessed  the  most 
splendid  illumination  of  Paris  that  my  eyes  ever 
beheld,  upon  the  birth  of  the  first  child  of  the  same 
Louis  the  Sixteenth,  the  Duchess  of  Angouleme. 
On  both  these  occasions  it  seemed  as  if  there  was 
one  universal  burst  of  jo}^  throughout  the  whole 
kingdom  of  France.  But,  not  many  days  after  the 
Te  Deum  at  the  Cathedral  church  of  ISTotre  Dame,  I 
saw  performed  at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  the  tragedy 
of  Rhadamisthe  et  Zenobie,  by  the  elder  Crtibillon. 
In  that  tragedy,  the  principal  character,  being  him- 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  215 

self  kiiiior  otWrmenia,  appears  as  an  ambassador  from 
Home  at  the  Court  of  liis  own  father,  King  of  Iberia, 
and,  after  complaining,  in  the  name  of  the  Koman 
Republic,  of  certain  preparations  for  war  on  the  part 
of  the  King  of  Armenia,"  which  had  excited  the 
jealousy  of  the  Roman  Republic,  he  says  in  a  tone 
of  insolent  menace — 

"  Rome,  de  tant  d'apprets  qui  s'indigne  et  se  lasse, 
N'a  point  accoutumer  les  Reds  h.  tant  d'audace."t 

[CrehillorLS  Tragedy  of  Rhadamisthe  et  Zenohie. 

N"ever  in  the  course  of  my  attendance  upon  the- 
atrical performances  throughout  my  life,  did  I  hear 
a  more  deafening  and  universal  shout  of  applause, 
than  upon  the  delivery  of  these  two  lines,  marked 
by  the  peculiar  emphasis  with  which  the  actor 
dwelt  upon  the  words  "  les  Rois.^^  I  shall  never 
forget  the  eflect  of  this  incident  upon  my  reflections 
at  the  time.  Louis  the  Sixteenth  was  yet  an  abso- 
lute king — he  seemed  still  seated  in  the  affections 
of  his  people,  who  still  boasted  of  their  attachment 
beyond  all  other  nations  to  the  persons  of  their 
sovereigns.  His  reign  had  been  successful  and 
glorious !  How  often  since  the  Te  Deum  for  the 
birth  of  the  Duke  of  ISTormandy  and  the  perform- 

*  iberia,  I  think  Mr.  Adams  intended,  and  dictated  to  his  daughter, 
who  at  that  date  was  his  social  amanuensis. — J.  H.  H. 
f  Rome,  outraged  and  weary  of  such  preparations, 
Has  never  accustomed  Kings  to  such  audacity. — J.  H.  H. 


216  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

ance  of  Crebillon's  tragedy — occurring  so  nearly  at 
the  same  time — have  those  two  incidents  reminded 
me  of  the  lines  of  Gray's  bard — 

"  Fair  laughs  the  Morn,  and  soft  the  Zephyr  blows, 
While  proudly  riding  o'er  the  azure  realm 
In  gallant  trim  the  gilded  vessel  goes  ; 

Youth  on  the  prow  and  Pleasure  at  the  helm ; 
Regardless  of  the  sweeping  Whirlwind's  sway, 
That,  hushed  in  grim  repose,  expects  his  evening  prey." 

Let  me  return  to  Shakespeare.  As  a  teacher  of 
morals,  you  will  perceive  that,  in  the  inclosed 
papers,  I  have  expressed  the  opinion  that  he  was 
not  sufficiently  so  considered  by  the  performers 
of  his  j)ersonages  upon  the  stage.  I  excepted  Mrs. 
Siddons,  whose — 

"  I  say,  take  heed,  my  lord  !'* 

I  shall  never  forget.  When  these  remarks  were 
written,  I  had  never  seen  you  upon  the  boards,  and 
had  not  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance.  I  hope 
that,  upon  the  character  of  Desdemona — upon  the 
absurdity  of  restoring  Lear  to  his  Crown,  and  upon 
the  age  of  Juliet^  I  shall  not  find  myself  so  wide 
from  the  coincidence  of  your  judgment  as  I  have 
from  that  of  many  other  admirers  of  the  Swan  of 
Avon. 

Not  intending  to  try  your  temper  with  a  sermon 
in  return  for  the  pleasure  which  I  have  received 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  217 

from  your  manuscript,  I  will  close  with  the  assur- 
ance of  my  grateful  and  respectful  esteem. 

(Signed)  John  Qulncy  Adams. 

Note. — Mr.  Adams  was  born  July  11,  1767.     Died  in  the 
Capitol  at  Washington,  Feb.  23,  1848. 


MISCONCEPTIONS    OF    SHAKESPEAEE, 
UPON  THE  STAGE. 

BY   J.    Q.    ADAMS. 

My  admiration  of  Shakespeare,  as  a  profound 
delineator  of  human  nature  and  a  sublime  poet,  is 
but  little  short  of  idolatry.  I  think  he  is  often  mis- 
understood, as  performed  on  the  stage. 

The  character  of  Juliet,  for  example,  is  travestied 
almost  into  burlesque,  by  the  alteration  of  the  text 
in  the  scene  where  the  nurse,  with  so  much  pre- 
cision, fixes  her  age  {Act  1,  Scene  3).  The  nurse 
declares  she  knows  it  to  an  hour,  and  that  next  Lam- 
mas eve  (which  Lady  Capulet  says  will  be  in  a  fort- 
night and  odd  days)  she  will  be  fourteen.  Upon 
this  precise  age,  the  character  of  Juliet,,  her  dis- 
course, her  passion,  and  the  deep  pathos  of  the 
interest  that  we  take  in  her  fate,  very  largely  repose. 
Born  under  Italian  skies,  she  is  at  the  very  moment 
of  transition  from  the  child  to  the  woman.     Her 

10 


218  SHAKESPEKEAN  SUBJECTS. 

love  is  the  pure  impuke  of  intelligent,  sensitive 
nature — -first  love — unconscious  and  undissembled 
nature,  childliood  expanding  into  maturity,  physical 
and  intellectual — all  innocence,  all  ardor,  all  ecstasy. 
How  irresistibly  are  our  sympathies  moved  at  seeing 
the  blossom  blasted  at  the  very  moment  while  it  is 
opening  to  the  sun  !  As  the  play  is  performed  on 
the  stage,  the  nurse,  instead  of  saying  that  Juliet^  at 
the  next  Lammas  eve,  will  be  fourteen,  says  she  will 
be  nineteen.  Nineteen !  In  what  country  of  the 
world  was  a  young  lady  of  nineteen  ever  constantly 
attended  by  a  nurse  ?  Between  the  ages  of  thir- 
teen and  fourteen,  a  nurse,  in  a  noble  Italian  family 
of  the  middle  ages,  was  not  yet^an  unnatural  com- 
panion. On  the  verge  of  nineteen,  the  nurse  is  not 
only  supernumerary,  but  very  much  out  of  place. 
Take  away  the  age  of  Juliet,  and  you  take  away 
from  her  all  her  individuality,  all  the  consistency 
of  her  character,  all  that  childish  simplicity,  which, 
blended  with  the  fervor  of  her  passion,  constitutes 
her  greatest  charm.  In  what  but  in  that,  and  in 
everythmg  which  she  does  and  says,  congenial  to 
that  age,  does  she  differ  from  Yiola^  from  Miranda, 
from  Ophelia,  and  indeed  from  all  the  lovely  daugh- 
ters of  Shakespeare's  muse  ?  They  are  all  in  love, 
but  you  can  never  mistake  one  of  them  for  another. 
The  peculiarities  of  Juliet  all  have  reference  to  her 
age  ;  and  that  which  in  her  mouth  is  enchanting, 
would  seem  but  frothy  nonsense  from  a  woman  five 
years  older.     Juliet  says — 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  219 

"  And  when  Romeo  dies, 
Take  him  and  cut  him  up  in  Httle  stans, 
And  he  shall  make  the  face  of  Heaven  so  fine, 
That  all  the  world  shall  grow  in  love  with  night, 
And  pay  no  worship  to  the  garish  sun." 

In  the  incomparable  beauty  of  this  passage,  as 
spoken  by  a  girl  under  fourteen,  there  is  something 
too  childish  for  a  woman  of  nineteen,  however 
desperately  in  love.  One,  who  has  been  accustomed 
to  personate  Juliet  as  a  young  woman  of  nineteen, 
may  see  no  incongruity  with  that  age  in  her  cha- 
racter ;  yet  that  one,  who  has  herself  passed  through 
both  those  stages  of  life,  should  not  understand  the 
difference  of  maturitv  between  the  as^es  of  fourteen 
and  of  nineteen  in  the  female  sex,  is  scarcely  con- 
ceivable. Tliat  Shakespeare  should  have  con- 
founded them,  is  impossible.  That  he  intended  to 
make  the  a<je  of  Juliet  an  exposition  of  her  character, 
is  evident  from  the  special  care  he  has  taken  to 
make  the  nurse  announce  it.  If  the  meanest  of  dra- 
matists were  to  undertake  to  write  a  tragedy,  and 
to  draw  the  character  and  to  repeat  the  discourse  of 
a  girl  of  fourteen,  attended  throughout  the  play  by 
a  nurse,  can  we  imagine  that  he  would  change  the 
age  to  nineteen  and  yet  retain  the  nurse,  and  give 
to  the  full-formed  woman  the  same  character  and 
the  same  tone  of  dialogue  which  he  would  to 
the  ripening  child  of  fourteen  ?  Such  a  writer 
would   prove  himself    as  poor   a   proficient  in  the 


220  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

scliool   of   human    nature   as   in   tliat    of    Shakes- 
peare."^ 

In  that  ever  memorable  delineation  of  the  Life  of 
man,  and  its  division  into  "  seven  ages,"  by  Jaques, 
in  the  comedy  of  "  As  you  Like  it,"  the  meditative 
moralist  says  that  each  man  in  his  turn  plays  many 
parts.  He  says,  too,  that  all  the  men  and  women 
are  merely  players.  In  coming  to  the  details,  he 
exhibits  only  the  seven  ages  of  the  Tnan  j  but  there 
was  certainly  in  the  mind  of  the  poet  a  correspond- 
ing division  in  the  ages  of  the  woman  /  and  Juliet, 
at  any  age  short  of  fourteen,  and  yet  under  the  care 
of  a  nurse,  partakes  at  once,  in  the  relation  of  her 
sex,  of  the  school-boy  with  his  satchel  and  shining 
morning  face,  creeping  like  a  snail  unwillingly  to 
school,  and  of  the  lover  sighing  like  a  furnace,  with 
a  woful  ballad  made  to  his  mistress's  eyebrow. 
Shakespeare  was  not  the  observer  and  painter   of 

*  Th6  history  and  traditions  of  the  stage  do  not  furnish  a  single 
instance  of  an  actress  who  by  Nature  or  Art  seemed  not  more  than 
nineteen  years  of  age,  and  yet  was  able  to  perform  with  adequate 
effect  the  latter  portion  of  the  character  of  Juliet.  The  most  famous 
representatives  have  attained  to  an  age  of  twenty-five  or  thirty  years 
prior  to  an  acquirement  of  the  prerequisites  of  mind,  art,  and  experi- 
ence upon  tlie  stage.  It  has  been  generally  in  an  actress  asking  quite 
indulgence  enough  of  an  audience  to  suppose  her  age  not  more  than 
^^ nineteen;"  whereas,  had  any  called  it  ^^ fourteen,''''  instead  of  a  pass- 
ing wink  of  silent  consent,  she  would  have  been  very  apt  to  cause  a 
general  titter,  and  among  the  rude  spectators  some  derisive  lauglitcr. 
.The  alteration  of  "  fourteen  "  to  nineteen,  is  one  of  the  absolute  necessi- 
ties of  stage  representation.  Mrs.  Siddons  is  said  to  have  continued 
acceptable  as  JuUdvfhQn  over  forty-three  years  of  age. — J.  H.  Uackeit. 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  221 

nature,  to  confound  them  togetlier.  If  lie  had  exhi- 
bited in  action  a  school-boy  of  between  thirteen  and 
fourteen,  think  you  that  he  would  have  given  him 
the  features,  or  inspired  him  with  the  language  and 
ideas  of  a  lover  at  nineteen  ?  Our  youth  at  fourteen 
are  yet  under  the  age  of  passing  from  the  school  to 
the  university ;  at  nineteen,  many  of  them  have 
already  closed  their  career  at  the  university  and 
passed  into  the  busy  scenes  of  active  life.  The 
female  mind  and  person  hastens  also  to  maturity  in 
advance  of  the  male ;  and  a  woman  at  nineteen  is 
generally  more  completely  formed  than  a  man  at 
twenty-one. 

Shakespeare,  with  his  intuitive  sagacity,  has  also 
marked  the  characteristics  of  the  change  between 
these  two  of  his  "  seven  ages."  In  the  "  Merchant 
of  Yenice,"  when  Portia  proposes  to  Kerissa  that 
they  should  assume  male  attire  and  go  to  Yenice, 
she  says — 

"  I'll  hold  thee  any  wager, 
When  we  are  both  apparell'd  like  young  men, 
I'll  prove  the  prettier  fellow  of  the  two, 
And  wear  my  dagger  with  the  braver  grace, 
And  speak  between  the  change  of  man  and  hoy 
With  a  reed  voice ;  and  turn  two  mincing  steps 
Into  a  manly  stride  ;  and  speak  of  frays 
Like  a  fine  bragging  youth ;  and  tell  quaint  lyes 
How  honorable  ladies  sought  my  love, 
Which  I  denying,  they  fell  sick  and  died. 
I  could  not  do  withal :  then  I'll  repent, 
And  wish,  for  all  that,  that  I  had  not  kill'd  them — 


222  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

And  twenty  of  these  puny  lyes  I'll  tell, 
That  men  shall  swear  I've  discontinued  school 
Above  a  twelvemonth^* 

Tragedy,  according  to  the  admirable  definition  of 
Aristotle,  is  a  poem  imitative  of  human  life,  and  the 
object  of  which  is  to  purify  the  soul  of  the  spectator 
by  the  agency  of  terror  and  pity.  The  terror  is 
excited  by  the  incidents  of  the  story  and  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  person  represented ;  the  pity,  by  the 
interest  of  sympathy  with  their  characters.  Terror 
and  pity  are  moved  by  the  mere  aspect  of  human 
sufferings  ;  but  the  sympathy  is  strong  or  weak,  in 
proportion  to  the  interest  that  we  take  in  the  charac- 
ter of  the  sufferer.  With  this  definition  of  tragedy, 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet "  is  a  drama  of  the  highest 
order.  The  incidents  of  terror  and  the  sufferings  of 
the  principal  persons  of  the  drama  arouse  every 
sympathy  of  the  soul,  and  the  interest  of  sympathy 
with  Juliet.  She  unites  all  the  interest  of  ecstatic 
love,  of  unexampled  calamity,  and  of  the  peculiar 
tenderness  which  the  heart  feels  for  innocence  in 
childhood.  Most  truly,  then,  says  the  Prince  of  Ve- 
rona, at  the  conclusion  of  the  play — 

"  For  never  was  a  story  of  more  wo 
Than  this  of  Juliet  and  her  Romeo." 

Tlie  age  of  Juliet  seems  to  be  the  key  to  her  cha- 
racter throughout  the  play,  an  essential  ingredient 

*  Act  3,  Scene  5. 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  223 

in  tlie  intense  sympathy  wliicli  slie  inspires  ;  and 
Shakespeare  has  marked  it,  not  only  in  her  dis- 
course, but  even  in  her  name,  the  diminutive  of  ten- 
der affections  applied  only  to  childhood.  If  Shake- 
speare had  exhibited  upon  the  stage  a  woman  of 
nineteen,  he  would  have  dismissed  her  nurse  and 
called  her  Julia.  She  might  still  have  been  a  very 
interesting  character,  but  the  whole  color  and  com- 
plexion of  the  play  must  have  been  changed.  An 
intelligent,  virtuous  woman,  in  love  with  a  youth  of 
assorted  age  and  congenial  character,  is  always  a 
person  of  deep  interest  in  the  drama.  But  that 
interest  is  heightened  and  redoubled  when,  to  the 
sympathy  with  the  lover,  you  add  all  the  kind  affec- 
tions with  which  you  share  in  the  joys  and  sorrows 
of  the  child.  There  is  childishness  in  the  discourse 
of  Juliet,  and  the  poet  has  shown  us  why  ;  because 
she  had  scarcely  ceased  to  be  a  child.  There  is  non- 
sense in  the  alteration  of  Shakespeare's  text  upon 
the  stage. 

There  are  several  of  the  most  admired  plays  of 
Shakespeare  which  give  much  more  pleasure  to  read 
than  to  see  performed  upon  the  stage.  For  instance, 
Othello  and  Lear  ;  both  of  which  abound  in  beautv 
of  detail,  in  poetical  passages,  in  highly-wrought  and 
consistently  preserved  characters.  But,  the  pleasure 
that  we  take  in  witnessing  a  performance  upon  the 
stage,  depends  much  upon  the  sympathy  that  we 
feel  with  the  sufferings  and  enjoyments  of  the  good 
characters  represented,  and  upon  the  punishment  of 


224  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

the  bad.  We  never  can  sympathize  much  with 
Desdemona  or  with  Leay\  because  we  never  can 
separate  them  from  the  estimate  that  the  lady 
is  little  less  than  a  wanton,  and  the  old  king  nothing 
less  than  a  dotard.  "Who  can  sympathize  with  the 
love  of  Desdemona  f — the  daughter  of  a  Venetian 
nobleman,  born  and  educated  to  a  splendid  and 
lofty  station  in  the  community.  She  falls  in  love 
and  makes  a  runaway  match  with  a  blackamoor,  for 
no  better  reason  than  that  he  has  told  her  a  brag- 
gart story  of  his  hair-breadth  escapes  in  war.  For 
this,  she  not  only  violates  her  duties  to  her  father, 
her  family,  her  sex,  and  her  country,  but  she  makes 
the  first  advances.  She  tells  Othello  she  wished 
Heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man,  and  informs  him 
how  any  friend  of  his  may  win  her  by  telling  her 
again  his  story.  On  that  hint,  says  he,  I  spoke  ; 
and  well  he  might.  The  blood  must  circulate 
briskly  in  the  veins  of  a  young  woman,  so  fascinated, 
and  so  coming  to  the  tale  of  a  rude,  unbleached 
African  soldier. 

The  great  moral  lesson  of  the  tragedy  of  Othello 
is,  that  black  and  white  blood  cannot  be  inter- 
mingled in  marriage  without  a  gross  outrage  upon 
the  law  of  !N"ature  ;  and  that,  in  such  violations,  ITa- 
ture  will  vindicate  her  laws.  The  moral  of  Othello 
is  not  to  beware  of  jealousy,  for  jealousy  is  well 
founded  in  the  character  and  conduct  of  his  wife, 
though  not  in  the  fact  of  her  infidelity  with  Cassio. 
Desdemona  is  not  false  to  her  husband,  but  she  has 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  225 

been  false  to  the  purity  and  delicacy  of  lier  sex  ai^d 
condition  when  she  married  him  ;  and  the  last  words 
spoken  by  her  father  on  parting  from  them,  after  he 
has  forgiven  her  and  acquiesced  in  the  marriage, 
are — 

"  Look  to  her,  Moor;  have  a  quick  eye  to  see: 
She  has  deceived  her  father,  and  may  thee." 

And  this  very  idea  is  that  by  which  the  crafty  villain 
lago  works  up  into  madness  the  jealousy  of  Othello. 

Whatever  sympathy  we  feel  for  the  sufferings  of 
Desdemona  flows  from  the  consideration  that  she  is 
innocent  of  the  particular  crime  imputed  to  her,  and 
that  she  is  the  victim  of  a  treacherous  and  artful 
intriguer.  But,  while  compassionating  her  melan- 
choly fate,  we  cannot  forget  the  vice  of  her  charac- 
ter. Upon  the  stage,  her  fondling  with  Othello  is 
disgusting.  Who,  in  real  life,  would  have  her  for  a 
sister,  daughter,  or  wife  ?  She  is  not  guilty  of  infi- 
delity to  her  husband,  but  she  forfeits  all  the  affec- 
tion of  her  father  and  all  her  own  filial  affection  for 
him.  When  the  duke  proposes,  on  the  departure  of 
Othello  for  the  war,  that  she  should  return  during 
his  absence  to  her  father's  house,  the  father,  the 
daughter  and  the  husband  all  say  "  ^o  !"  She  pre- 
fers following  Othello,  to  be  besieged  by  the  Turks 
in  the  island  of  Cyprus. 

The  character  of  Desdemona  is  admirably  drawn 
and  faithfully  preserved  throughout  the  play.  It  is 
always  deficient  in  delicacy.    Her  conversations  with 

10* 


226  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

Mniliamdicsite  unsettled  principles,  even  with  regard 
to  the  obligations  of  the  nuptial  tie,  and  she  allows 
Jago,  almost  unrebuked,  to  banter  with  her  very 
coarsely  upon  women.  This  character  takes  from 
us  so  much  of  the  sympathetic  interest  in  her  sufler- 
incrs,  that  when  Othello  smothers  her  in  bed,  the  ter- 
TOY  and  the  pity  subside  immediately  into  the  senti- 
ment that  she  has  her  deserts.* 

We  feel  a  similar  want  of  interest  in  the  character 
and  fortunes  oVLear^  as  represented  upon  the  stage. 
The  story  of  Lear^  as  those  of  Othello  and  Romeo 
and  Juliet^  was  ready-made  to  the  hand  of  Shake- 
speare. They  were  not  of  his  invention.  King 
Lear  and  his  three  daughters  form  a  part  of  the 
fabulous  history  of  England.     The  dotage  of  an  abso- 

*  I  must  differ  materially  with  Mr,  Adams  in  his  estimate  of  the 
character  of  Desdemona.  She  had  frequently  seen  Othello  when  invited 
by  her  father  to  his  domicile — she  was  struck  by  his  valiant  parts,  and 
became  so  infatuated  that  she  saw  Othello's  visage  only  in  his  mind, 
and  eventually  resolved  to  consecrate  to  him  her  life  and  fortunes  as 
his  wife. 

I  agree  with  Mr.  Adams  respecting  the  moral  which  Shakespeare 
designed  to  convey  so  far  as  it  involves  a  caution  to  fathers  that  they 
should  "  never  introduce  to  their  domestic  hearths  where  they  have  a 
daughter,  young,  warm-hearted,  and  very  susceptible  of  impression, 
any  man,  who,  from  his  nature  or  his  conditions  in  life,  might,  if  such 
daughter  happened  to  fancy  him,  prove  an  unsuitable  husband  for 
her."  Because,  there  is  no  accounting  for  differences  of  taste,  and 
often  the  obstinacy  of  some  women's  natures  will  induce  them  to 
entertain  a  man's  professions  of  love  and  admiration,  and  yield  to  his 
fascinations,  the  more  readily  from  h&m^put  upon  their  guard  against 
him  as  "an  improper  suitor;"  especially  certain  young  girls,  with 
whom  passion  is  often  stronger  than  reason. — J.  H.  ffacJcett. 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  227 

lute  monarch  may  be  a  suitable  subject  of  tragedy  ; 
and  Shakespeare  has  made  a  deep  tragedy  of  it. 
But,  as  exhibited  upon  the  stage,  it  is  turned  into  a 
comedy.  Lea;i\  the  dotard  and  the  madman,  is 
restored,  to  his  throne,  and  Cordelia  finishes  with  a 
wedding.     "What  can  be  more  absurd  ! 

Dotage  and  madness,  in  the  j^erson  of  a  king,  pos- 
sessed of  the  power  to  give  away  his  kingdom  at 
his  pleasure,  afford  melancholy  contemplations  of 
human  nature.  They  are  not  fit  subjects  for  comedy. 
Lear  is  no  more  fit  to  be  restored  to  his  kincrdom 
than  Christopher  Sly  is  to  be  metamorphosed  into 
a  lord."^  Lear  is  a  dotard  and  a  madman  from  the 
first  scene  in  the  play,  and  his  insanity  commences 
with  such  revolting  injustice  to  his  only  affectionate 
daughter,  that  we  feel  but  little  compassion  for 
whatever  may  afterwards  befall  him.  The  interest- 
ing character  of  the  play  is  Cordelia  /  and  what  a 
lovely  character  it  is !  But  the  restoration  of  a 
dotard  from  old  age  to  his  senses  is  as  much  out  of 

*  After  seeing  Edmund  Kean  perform  Lear  at  New  York  in  1826, 
I  expressed  to  him  my  surprise  at  his  choice  of  Nahum  Tate's  altera- 
tion to  the  great  OriginaVs  conclusion  of  the  tragedy.  Mr,  Keau 
observed: — '"I  do  not  prefer  it,  but  I  first  studied  Tate's  alteration 
and  acted  accordingly,  because  it  was  popular.  Afterwards  I  restored 
Shakespeare's  text  and  conclusion,  and  acted  that ;  but,  when  I  had 
ascertained  that  a  large  majority  of  the  public — whom  we  live  to 
please,  and  must  please  to  be  popular — liked  Tate  better  than  Shake- 
speare, I  fell  back  upon  his  corruption ;  though  in  my  soul  I  was 
ashamed  of  the  prevaihng  taste,  and  of  my  professional  condition  that 
required  me  to  minister  unto  it." 


228  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

nature  as  the  restoration  to  his  throne  is  prepos- 
terous. Lea)\  as  Shakespeare  painted  him,  is  the 
wreck  of  a  mighty  mind  and  proud  spirit,  sunk 
from  despotic  power  into  dotage,  and  maddened 
by  the  calamitous  consequences  of  his  own  imbeci- 
lity. His  madness,  with  hicid  flashes  of  intellect,  is 
incurable.  It  is  terrible  !  it  is  piteous  !  But  it  is 
its  effect  on  the  fortunes  and  fate  of  Cordelia  that 
constitutes  the  chief  interest  of  the  spectator ;  and 
Lear  himself,  from  his  first  appearance,  loses  all 
title  to  compassion.^ 

The  chief  import  of  these  objections  to  the  man- 
ner in  which  Shakespeare's  plays  are  represented 
upon  the  stage,  is  to  vindicate  the  great  "  master  of 
the  drama"  from  the  liberties  taken  by  stage- 
managers  with  his  text.  In  Romeo  and  Juliet^  the 
alteration  of  a  single  word — the  substitution  of  nine- 
teen for  fourteen — changes  the  whole  character  of 
the  play — makes  that,  which  is  a  perfect  imitation  of 
nature,  incongruous  absurdity,  and  takes  from  one  of 
the  loveliest  creations  of  Shakespeare  half  her  charm. 

*  Shakespeare  has  pointed  the  moral  the  more  strongly  by  letting 
Cordelia  find  suffering  in  life  and  eventually  share  death  with  her 
father ;  when  the  doting  and  imbecile  Octogenarian  despot  was  in  the 
act  of  dividing  his  kingdom,  and  coveted,  and  expected,  and  exacted 
of  each  of  his  daughters  their  warmest  expressions  of  filial  affection, 
Cordelia,  instead  of  gently  and  innocently  humoring  her  weak  but 
loving  and  partial  father,  showed  the  slight  but  only  fault  in  lier  cha- 
racter, by  obstinacy  and  reserve.  To  her  truth  and  coldness,  and  her 
father's  rashness  and  folly,  then  may  be  traced  the  primary  causes  of 
the  sad  catastrophe. — J.  H.  Hackeit. 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  229 


PEKSO:N'ATIO:NrS  OF  THE  CHAEACTEES  OF 
SHAKESPEAEE. 

(extracts  FEOM  the  MS.  LBTTEES  OF  A  CELEBRATED 
PERSONAGE.) 

I  HAVE  been,  man  and  boy,  a  reader  of  Shakespeare 
at  least  three  score  years.  A  pocket  edition  of  him 
was  among  the  books  of  my  mother's  nursery-library, 
and  at  ten  years  of  age  I  was  as  familiarly  acquainted 
with  his  lovers  and  his  clowns,  as  with  Eobinson 
Crusoe,  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  the  Bible.  In 
later  years  I  have  left  Eobinson  and  the  Pilgrim  to 
the  perusal  of  the  children  ;  but  have  continued  to 
read  the  Bible  and  Sliakespeare,  always  recognising 
the  precedence  of  veneration  due  to  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures. 

I  have  read  Shakespeare  as  a  teacher  of  morals — 
as  a  student  of  human  nature — as  a  painter  of  life 
and  manners — as  an  anatomical  dissecter  of  the 
passions — as  an  artificer  of  imaginary  worlds — as 
at  once  the  sublimest  and  most  philosophic  of 
poets. 

"When  I  say  that  my  admiration  of  Shakespeare  is 
little  short  of  idolatry,  I  mean  to  be  understood  that 
it  is  not  idolatry — that  I  hold  him  amenable  to  the 
common  laws  of  criticism,  and  feel  at  liberty  to  cen- 
sure in  him,  as  well  the  vices  of  his  age,  which 


280  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

abound  in  all  Lis  plays,  as  his  own  faults,  from 
wliicli  lie  is  bv  no  means  exempt.  Yet,  admiring 
him  as  I  do,  with  all  his  blemishes,  I  take  no  plea- 
sure in  dwelling  upon  them.  My  remarks  were  con- 
lined  to  the  different  impressions  made  upon  me  by 
the  true  Shakespeare  in  my  closet,  and  by  the  spuri- 
ous Shakespeare  often  exhibited  upon  the  stage. 

I  had  been  more  than  seven  years  a  reader  of 
Shakespeare  before  I  saw  any  of  his  plays  performed. 
Fifty-two  years  have  passed  away  since  I  first  saw 
John  Kemble,  in  the  vigor  of  early  manhood,  per- 
sonate, upon  the  boards  of  Drury  Lane,  the  charac- 
ter of  Hamlet.  It  was  the  first  play  that  I  ever  saw 
performed  in  England — the  first  of  Shakespeare's 
plays  that  I  had  seen  performed  anywhere — and  I 
was  disappointed.  I  had  been  much  accustomed  to 
the  theatres  of  France — far  advanced  beyond  those 
of  England  in  the  art  of  dramatic  representation — 
and  although  John  Kemble  was  then  in  his  prime, 
and  Hamlet  was  one  of  his  favorite  parts,  in  the 
comparison  wdiich  crowded  upon  my  mind,  between 
Drury  Lane  and  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  at  Paris,  and 
between  the  Hamlet  of  John  Kemble  and  the  Ham- 
let whicli  I  had  by  heart  from  Shakespeare,  the 
Prince  of  Denmark  himself,  the  most  admirable  of 
all  Shakespeare's  jportraits  of  man^  became  to  me  a 
weary,  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable  personage.  Such 
was  the  impression  left  upon  me  by  the  first  exhibi- 
tion that  I  ever  witnessed  of  Shakespeare  upon  the 
stage ;  and  that  impression,  after  the  lapse  of  more 


SnAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  231 

than  half  a  centniy,  remains  iineifacedj  and,  while 
meraoiy  holds  her  seat,  unefFaceable  from  my  mind. 
I  have  since  then  seen  almost  all  the  plays  of 
Shakespeare  that  are  ever  exhibited  upon  the  stage 
— Mrs.  Siddons,  in  the  character  of  Isabella^  of 
Queen  Catharine^  of  Hamlefs  Mother^  and  of  Lady 
Macbeth  /  Mrs.  Jordan  in  the  characters  of  Yiola 
and  of  Ophelia  /  Miss  Wallace  and  Miss  O'Neil  in 
that  of  Juliet  /  Mrs.  Abington  in  that  of  Beatrice  / 
Miss  Foote  in  that  of  Imogen  •  and  the  parts  of 
Hamlet,  Lear,  Othello,  Macbeth,  Coriolanus,  Richard 
Sd,  Falstaff,  Mercutio,  Benedich,  Shyloch,  lago, 
Romeo,  and  Petruchio  by  John  Kemble,  Palmer, 
Kean,  Cooper,  Fawcett,  Lewis,  Mackliu,  and  Booth  ; 
besides  the  parts  of  Hamlet  and  Cardinal  Wolsey 
by  Henderson,  and  the  grave-diggers  and  clowns  by 
Parsons,  Quick,  Munden,  and  Liston.  There  was 
scarcely  an  eminent  performer  at  Drury  Lane  or 
Co  vent  Garden,  for  the  space  of  thirty -five  years, 
from  1783  to  1817,  but  I  have  seen  grapple  with 
some  of  the  persons  of  Shakespeare's  drama.  The 
female  parts  I  have  thought  generally  well  per- 
formed, though  that  of  Jidiet  was  always  disfigured 
by  the  substitution  of  that  age  of  nineteen  for  the 
original  fourteen.  The  consequence  of  which  has 
been  that  the  enchanting  mixture  of  childish  frailty 
and  innocence,  with  her  burning  and  hopeless  love, 
which  constitute  the  profound  pathos  of  the  tragedy, 
is  entirely  lost.  Of  all  the  performers  that  I  have 
ever  seen  presuming  to  speak  the  language,  and  to 


232  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

convey  the  thoughts  of  Shakespeare,  Mrs.  Siddons 
has  appeared  to  me  to  understand  them  best.  Hen- 
derson's Hamlet  and  ^Yolsey^  Macklin's  Shyloch^ 
Lea  Lewis's  Mercutio^  John  Kemble's  Lear  and 
Macbeth^  Kean's  Richard^  Parsons's  Grave-Digger^ 
Liston's  Launcelot  Gobbo^  Mrs.  Jordan's  Viola,  and 
Mrs.  Abington's  Beatrice,  have  been  among  the 
most  renowned  of  personations  of  Shakespeare's 
parts  since  the  days  of  Garrick.  But  in  my,  per- 
haps eccentric,  judgment,  no  person  can  deliver  the 
words  and  ideas  of  Shakespeare  who  has  not  been 
accustomed  to  study  them  as  a  teacher  of  morals — 
ih^  first  of  the  capacities  in  which  I  have  looked  up 
to  him  since,  in  my  career  of  life,  I  have  passed  the 
third  of  his  seven  ages.  As  a  school-boy,  I  de- 
lighted in  him  as  a  teller  of  tales  and  a  joker  of 
jokes.  As  a  lover,  I  gazed  with  ecstasy  upon  the 
splendors  of  his  imagination,  and  the  heart-cheering, 
heart-rending  joys  and  sorrows  of  his  lovers.  J^ever 
as  a  soldier ;  but  in  the  age  of  active  manhood, 
which  he  allots  to  that  profession,  I  have  resorted 
to  him  as  a  pilgrim  to  the  shrine  of  a  saint,  for 
moral,  ay,  and  for  religious  instruction.  I  have 
found  in  the  story  of  most  of  his  plays,  in  the  cha- 
racters of  most  of  his  personages,  in  the  incidents 
of  his  fables,  in  the  sentences  of  unparalleled  solem- 
nity and  magnificence,  delivered  as  part  of  the  dia- 
logue of  his  speakers,  nay,  in  the  very  conceits  and 
quibbles  of  his  clowns,  lessons  of  the  most  elevated 
and  comprehensive  morality.     Some  of  them  have 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  233 

at  times  almost  tempted  me  to  believe  in  tliem  as 
of  more  than  poetical  inspiration.  But,  excei3ting 
John  Kemble  and  Mrs.  Siddons,  I  never  met  with  a 
player  who  appeared  to  me  to  have  thought  of 
Shakespeare  as  a  moralist  at  all,  or  to  have  inquired 
what  were  the  morals  that  he  taught ;  and,  as  I 
have  said,  John  Kemble  did  not  appear  to  me  to 
understand  the  character  of  Hamlet.^  Garrick 
himself  attempted  to  strike  out  the  grave-digger 
scene  from  the  tragedy  of  Hamlet^  and  the  very 
rabble  of  London,  the  gods  of  the  galleries,  forced 
him  to  restore  it.  There  is  not,  in  the  compass 
of  the  drama,  a  scene  of  deeper  and  more  philo- 
sophical morality. 

*  Oh,  how  I  would  that  Mr.  Adams  had  expressed  his  reasons ! 
John  Kemble  died  at  Lausanne,  in  Switzerland,  some  six  years  prior 
to  my  first  visit  to  England,  and  therefore  having  never  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  him,  I  can  only  form  an  idea  of  his  claims  to  pre- 
eminence in  personating  Hamlet  from  tradition  or  through  his  con- 
temporary critics ;  but,  I  can  more  readily  impute  to  Mr,  Adams 
hypercriticism  or  an  eccentric  taste,  than  I  can  believe  that  John 
Kemble  could  have  been  so  popular  for  forty  years,  and  yet  not  had 
at  least  a  generally  good  understanding  of  Hamlet^ s  character. — J.  H.  H. 


234  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

THE  CHAEACTEE  OF  DESDEMOITA. 

BY   JOHN   QUINCY   ADAMS. 

Theke  are  critics  who  cannot  bear  to  see  the  vir- 
tue and  delicacy  of  Shakespeare's  Desdemona  called 
in  question ;  who  defend  her  on  the  ground  that 
Othello  is  not  an  Ethiopian,  but  a  Moor  ;  that  he  is 
not  black,  but  only  tawny  ;  and  they  protest  against 
the  sable  mask  of  Othello  upon  the  stage,  and 
against  the  pictures  of  him  in  which  he  is  always 
painted  black.  They  say  that  prejudices  have  been 
taken  against  Desdemona  from  the  slanders  of  lago^ 
from  the  railings  of  Roderigo^  from  the  disappointed 
paternal  rancor  of  Brahantio^  and  from  the  despond- 
ing concessions  of  Othello  himself. 

I  have  said,  that  since  I  entered  upon  the  third 
of  Shakespeare's  seven  ages,  the  first  and  chief 
capacity  in  which  I  have  read  and  studied  him  is  as 
\ka  teacher  of  morals ;  and  that  I  had  scarcely  ever 
seen  a  player  of  his  parts  who  regarded  him  as  a 
moralist  at  all.  I  further  said,  that  in  my  judgment 
no  man  could  understand  him  who  did  not  study 
him  pre-eminently  as  a  teacher  of  morals.  These 
critics  say  they  do  not  incline  to  put  Shakespeare 
on  a  level  with  ^sop  !  Sure  enough  they  do  not 
study  Sliakespeare  as  a  teacher  of  morals.  To  tliein^ 
therefore,  Desdemona  is  a  perfect  character ;  and 
her  love  for  Othello  is  not  unnatural,  because  he  is 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  235 

not  a  Congo  negro  but  only  a  sooty  Moor,  and  lias 
royal  blood  in  liis  veins. 

My  objections  to  the  cliaracter  of  Desdemona 
arise  not  from  what  lago^  or  lioderigo^  or  Brabantio^ 
or  Othello  says  of  lier ;  but  from  what  she  herself 
does.  She  absconds  from  her  father's  house,  in  the 
dead  of  night,  to  marry  a  blackamoor.  She  breaks 
a  father's  heart,  and  covers  his  noble  house  with 
shame,  to  gratify — what  ?  Pure  love,  like  that  of 
Juliet  or  Miranda  f  No  !  unnatural  passion  ;  it 
cannot  be  named  with  delicacy.  Her  admirers  now 
say  this  is  criticism  of  1835  ;  that  the  color  of 
Othello  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  passion  of  Des- 
demona. ISTo  ?  Why,  if  Othello  had  been  white, 
what  need  would  there  have  been  for  her  running 
away  with  him  ?  She  could  have  made  no  better 
match.  Her  father  could  have  made  no  reasonable 
objection  to  it ;  and  there  could  have  been  no 
tragedy.  If  the  color  of  Othello  is  not  as  vital  i^- 
the  whole  tragedy  as  the  age  of  Juliet  is  to  her 
character  and  destiny,  then  have  I  read  Shakespeare 
in  vain.  The  father  of  Desdemona  charges  Othello 
with  magic  arts  in  obtaining  the  affections  of  his 
daughter.  Why,  but  because  her  passion  for  him 
is  unnatural  /  and  why  is  it  unnatural,  but  because 
of  his  color?  In  the  very  first  scene,  in  the  dia- 
logue between  Roderigo  and  lago^  before  they  ronse 
Brahantio  to  inform  him  of  his  daughter's  elope- 
ment, Icoderigo  contemptuously  calls  Othello  *'  the 
thick  lips."      I  cannot  in  decency  quote  here — bnt 


236  SHAKESrEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

turn  to  the  book,  and  see  in  what  language  lago 
announces  to  her  father  his  daughter's  shameful 
misconduct.  The  language  of  Roderigo  is  more 
supportable.  He  is  a  Yenetian  gentleman,  himself 
a  rejected  suitor  of  Desdetnona  ^  and  who  has  been 
forbidden  by  her  father  access  to  his  house.  E-oused 
from  his  repose  at  the  dead  of  night  by  the  loud 
cries  of  these  two  men,  Brdbantio  spurns,  with  in- 
dignation and  scorn,  the  insulting  and  beastly  lan- 
guage of  lago  ^  and  sharply  chides  Roderigo^  whom 
he  supposes  to  be  hovering  about  his  house  in  defi- 
ance of  his  prohibitions  and  in  a  state  of  intoxica- 
tion. He  threatens  him  with  punishment.  Ro- 
derigo replies — 

"  Rod.  Sir,  I  will  answer  any  thing.     But  I  beseech  you, 
If  t  be  your  pleasure,  and  most  wise  consent, 
(As  partly,  I  find,  it  is),  that  your  fair  daughter 
At  this  odd-even  and  dull  watch  o'  the  night, 
Transported — with  no  worse  nor  better  guard, 
But  with  a  knave  of  common  hire,  a  gondolier, — 
To  the  gross  clasps  of  a  lascivious  Moor, — 
If  this  be  known  to  you,  and  your  allowance, 
We  then  have  done  you  bold  and  saucy  wrongs ; 
But  if  you  know  not  this,  my  manners  tell  me, 
"We  have  your  w^rong  rebuke.     Do  not  believe, 
That,  from  the  sense  of  all  civility, 
I  thus  would  play  and  trifle  with  your  reverence : 
Your  daughter — if  you  have  not  given  her  leave, — 
I  say  again,  hath  made  a  gross  revolt ; 
Tying  her  duty,  beauty,  wit,  and  fortunes. 
To  an  extravagant  and  wheeling  stranger. 
Of  here  and  every  where  :  Straight  satisfy  yourself: 


SnAKESPEREA:^    SUBJECTS.  237 

If  she  be  in  her  chamber,  or  your  house, 
Let  loose  on  me  the  justice  of  the  state, 
For  thus  deluding  you." 

Struck  by  this  speech  as  by  a  clap  of  thunder, 
Brabantio  calls  up  his  people,  remembers  a  porten- 
tous dream,  calls  for  light,  goes  and  searches  with 
his  servants,  and  comes  back  saying — 

"  It  is  too  true  an  evil :  gone  she  is  : 
And  what's  to  come  of  my  despised  time, 
Is  nought  but  bitterness." 

The  father's  heart  is  broken  ;  life  is  no  longer  of 
any  value  to  him  ;  he  repeats  this  sentiment  time 
after  time  whenever  he  appears  in  the  scene ;  and 
in  the  last  scene  of  the  play,  where  Desdemona  lies 
dead,  her  uncle  Gratiano  says — 

"  Poor  Desdemona !     I  am  glad  thy  father's  dead, 
Thy  match  was  mortal  to  him,  and  pure  grief 
Shore  his  old  thread  in  twain." 

Indeed  !  indeed  !  I  must  Iook  at  Shakespeare  in 
this,  as  in  all  his  pictures  of  human  life,  in  the  capa- 
city of  a  teacher  of  morals.  I  must  believe  that,  in 
exhibiting  a  daughter  of  a  Venetian  nobleman  of 
the  highest  rank  eloping  in  the  dead  of  the  night  to 
marry  a  thick-lipped  wool-headed  Moor,  opening  a 
train  of  consequences  which  lead  to  her  own  de- 
struction by  her  husband's  hands,  and  to  that  of  her 
father  by  a  broken  heart,  he  did  not  intend  to  pre- 
sent her  as  an  example  of  the  perfection  of  female 


238  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

virtue.  I  must  look  first  at  the  action,  then  at  the 
motive,  then  at  the  consequences,  before  I  inquire 
in  what  light  it  is  received  and  represented  by  the 
other  persons  of  the  drama.  The  first  action  of 
Desdeinona  discards  all  female  delicacy,  all  filial 
duty,  all  sense  of  ingenuous  shame.  So  I  consider 
it — and  so  it  is  considered  by  her  own  father.  Her 
ofi'ence  is  not  a  mere  elopement  from  her  father's 
house  for  a  clandestine  marriage.  I  hope  it  requires 
no  unreasonable  rigor  of  morality  to  consider  even 
that  as  suited  to  raise  a  prepossession  rather  unfavor- 
able to  the  character  of  a  young  woman  of  refined 
sensibility  and  elevated  education.  But  an  elope- 
ment for  a  clandestine  marriage  with  a  blackamoor ! 
That  is  the  measure  of  my  estimation  of  the  cha- 
racter of  Desdeinona  from  the  beginning  ;  and  when 
I  have  passed  my  judgment  upon  it,  and  find  in  the 
play  that  from  the  first  moment  of  her  father's 
knowledge  of  the  act  it  made  him  loathe  his  life, 
and  that  it  finally  broke  his  heart,  I  am  then  in  time 
to  inquire,  what  was  the  deadly  venom  which  in- 
flicted the  immedicable  wound : — and  what  is  it, 
but  the  color  of  Othello  f 

"ISTow,  Eoderigo, 
Where  did'st  thou  see  her  ? — Oh,  unhappy  girl ! — 
With  the  Moor,  say'st  thou  ? — Who  would  be  a  father  ?" 

These  are  the  disjointed  lamentations  of  the 
wretched  parent  when  the  first  disclosure  of  his 
daughter's  shame  is   made   known  to  him.      This 


SHAKESrEEEAN  SUBJECTS.  239 

scene  is  one  of  tlie  iuimitable  pictures  of  liuman 

passion  in  the  hands  of  Shakespeare,  and  that  half 

line 

"  With  the  Moor,  say'st  thou  ?" 

comes  from  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  soul. 

Again,  when  Brahaiitio  first  meets  Othello^  he 
breaks  out : 

"  0,  tliou  foul  thief,  where  hast  thou  stow'd  my  daughter? 
Damn'd  as  thou  art,  thou  hast  enchanted  her  : 
For  I'll  refer  me  to  all  things  of  sense, 
If  she,  in  chains  of  magic  were  not  bound, 
Whether  a  maid  so  tender,  fair,  and  happy, 
So  opposite  to  marriage  that  she  shunn'd 
The  wealthy  curled  darlings  of  our  nation. 
Would  ever  have  to  incur  our  general  mock. 
Run  from  her  guardage  to  the  sooty  hosom 
Of  such  a  thing  as  thou ;  to  fear,  not  to  delight." 

Several  of  the  English  commentators  have  puz- 
zled themselves  with  the  inquiry  why  the  epithet 
"  curled"  is  here  applied  to  the  wealthy  darlings  of 
the  nation  ;  and  Dr.  Johnson  thinks  it  has  no  refer- 
ence to  the  hair  ;  but  it  evidently  has.  The  curled 
hair  is  in  antithetic  contrast  to  the  sooty  bosom,  the 
thick  lips,  and  the  woolly  head.^     The  contrast  of 

*    "  Wealthy  cttrled  darUngs."^ 

The  negro's  hair  curled  like  wool  naturally ;  the  Yenetians'  locks  of 
hair  were  curled  artificially,  and  betrayed  vanity  and  effeminacy  in 
their  desire  to  become  the  "  darlings"  of  the  ladies,  whose  curls  adorn 
their  countenance,  and  in  many  of  the  sex  are  not  produced  by  nature^ 
but  also  by  the  art  of  the  toilette. — J.  H.  H. 


240  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

color  is  the  very  hinge  upon  which  Bralantio  founds 
his  charge  of  magic,  counteracting  the  impulse  of 
nature. 

At  the  close  of  the  same  scene  (the  second  of  the 
first  act),  Brdbantio^  hearing  that  the  duke  is  in 
council  upon  public  business  of  the  State,  deter- 
mines to  carry  Othello  before  him  for  trial  upon  the 
charge  of  magic.     "  Mine,"  says  he, 

"  Mine's  not  a  middle  cause  ;  the  duke  himself 
Or  any  of  my  brothers  of  the  State 
Cannot  but  feel  the  wrong,  as  'twere  their  own : 
For  if  such  actions  may  have  passage  free, 
Bond  slaves  and  Pagans  shall  our  statesmen  be." 

And  Steevens,  in  his  note  on  this  passage,  says,  "  He 
alludes  to  the  common  condition  of  all  blacks  who 
come  from  their  own  country,  both  slaves  and 
pagans  I  and  uses  the  word  in  contempt  of  Othello 
and  his  complexion.  If  this  Moor  is  now  suffered 
to  escape  with  impunity,  it  will  be  such  an  encou- 
ragement to  his  black  countrymen,  that  we  may 
expect  to  see  all  the  first  ofiices  of  our  state  filled 
up  by  the  Pagans  and  bond-slaves  of  Africa." 
Othello  himself  in  his  narrative  says  that  he  had 
been  taken  by  the  insolent  foe  and  sold  to  slavery. 
He  had  heen  a  slave. 

Once  more — When  Desdemona  pleads  to  the 
Duke  and  the  Council  for  permission  to  go  with 
Othello  to  Cyprus,  she  says. 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  241 

"  That  I  did  love  the  Moor,  to  Uve  with  him, 
My  downright  violence  and  storm  of  fortune 
May  trumpet  to  the  world ;  my  heart's  subdued, 
Even  to  the  very  quality  of  my  lord; 
I  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his  mind ; 
And  to  his  honours  and  his  valiant  parts 
Did  I  my  soul  and  fortunes  consecrate." 

In  commenting  upon  this  passage,  Mr.  Henley 
says,  "  That  qicality  here  signifies  the  Moorish  com- 
jylexioii  of  Othello,  and  not  his  military  profession 
(as  Malone  had  supposed),  is  obvious  from  what 
immediately  follows  :  '  I  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his 
mind  ;'  and  also  from  what  the  Duke  says  to  Bror 
hantio — 

"  If  virtue  no  dehghted  beauty  lack 
Your  son-in-law  is  far  more  fair  than  black." 

The  characters  of  Othello  and  lago  in  this  play 
are  evidently  intended  as  contrasted  pictures  of 
human  nature,  each  setting  off  the  other.  They  ara  , 
national  portraits  of  man — the  Italiak  and  the 
MooK.  The  Italian  is  vMte^  crafty^  and  cruel  '^  a 
consummate  villain ;  yet,  as  often  happens  in  the 
realities  of  that  description  whom  we  occasionally 
meet  in  the  intercourse  of  life,  so  vain  of  his  own 
artifices  that  he  betrays  himself  by  boasting  of  them 
and  their  success.  Accordingly,  in  the  very  first 
scene  he  reveals  to  Roderigo  the  treachery  of  his 
own  character : 

11 


242  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

"  For  when  my  outward  action  cloth  demonstrate 
The  native  act  and  figure  of  my  heart 
In  comphment  extern,  'tis  not  long  after 
But  I  will  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve 
For  daws  to  peck  at :  I  am  not  what  I  am." 

There  is  a  seeming  inconsistency  in  the  fact  that  a 
clonble- dealer  should  disclose  his  own  secret,  which 
must  necessarily  put  others  upon  their  guard  against 
him  ;  but  the  inconsistency  is  in  human  nature,  and 
not  in  the  poet. 

The  double-dealing  Italian  is  a  very  intelligent 
man,  a  keen  and  penetrating,  observer,  and  full  of 
ingenuity  to  devise  and  contrive  base  expedients. 
His  language  is  coarse,  rude,  and  obscene :  his 
humor  is  caustic  and  bitter.  Conscious  of  no  honest 
principle  in  himself,  he  believes  not  in  the  existence 
of  honesty  in  others.  He  is  jealous  and  suspicious  ; 
quick  to  note  every  trifle  light  as  air,  and  to  draw 
from  it  inferences  of  evil  as  confirmed  circumstances. 
In  his  dealings  with  the  Moor,  while  he  is  even 
harping  upon  his  honesty,  he  oflfers  to  commit  any 
murder  from  extreme  attachment  to  his  person  and 
interests.  In  all  that  lago  says  of  others,  and  espe- 
cially of  Desde7)iona^  there  is  a  mixture  of  truth 
and  falsehood,  blended  together,  in  which  the  truth 
itself  serves  to  accredit  the  lie  ;  and  such  is  the  ordi- 
nary character  of  malicious  slanders.  Doctor  John- 
son speaks  of  "  the  soft  simplicity,"  the  "  innocence," 
the  "  artlessness "  of  Desdemona.  lago  speaks  of 
her  as  a  supersiibtle  Yenetiau  ;  and.  when  kindling 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  243 

tlie  sparks  of  jealousy  in   tlie   soul  of  Othello^  lie 
says, 

"  She  did  deceive  her  father,  marrying  you  : 
And  when  she  seemed  to  shake  and  fear  your  looks, 
She  loved  them  most." 

"  And  so  she  did,"  answers  Othello.  This  charge, 
then,  was  true  ;  and  Ia(jo  replies  : 

"  Why,  go  to,  then ; 
She  that  so  young  could  give  out  such  a  seeming 
To  seal  her  father's  eyes  up,  close  as  oak. — 
He  thought  'twas  witchcraft." 

It  was  not  witchcraft ;  but  surely  as  little  was  it 
simplicity,  innocence,  artlessness.  The  eflect  of  this 
suggestion  upon  Othello  is  terrible  only  because  he 
knows  it  is  true.  Brcibantio^  on  parting  from  him, 
had  just  given  him  the  same  warning,  to  which  he 
had  not  then  paid  the  slightest  heed.  But  soon  his 
suspicions  are  roused — he  tries  to  repel  them ;  they 
are  fermenting  in  his  brain  :  he  appears  vehemently 
moved  and  yet  unwilling  to  acknowledge  it.  lago^ 
with  fiend-like  sagacity,  seizes  upon  the  paroxysm 
of  emotion,  and  then  comes  the  following  dia- 
loirue : — 


'O 


"  lago.  My  lord,  I  see  you  are  mov'd. 
OtheUo.  No,  not  much  mov'd : — 

I  do  not  think  but  Desdemona's  honest, 
lago.  Long  live  she  so  !  and  long  live  you  to  think  so  f 
OtheUo.  And  yet,  how  nature  erring  from  itself, — 


244:  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

lago.  Ay,  there's  the  point : — As, — to  be  bold  with  you, — 
Not  to  affect  many  proposed  matches, 
Of  her  own  chme,  complexion,  or  degree  ; 
Whereto,  we  see,  in  all  things  nature  tends : 
Foh !  one  may  smell,  in  such,  a  w411  most  rank 
Foul  disproportion,  thoughts  unnatural" — 

The  deadly  venom  of  these  imputations,  worKmg 
up  to  frenzy  the  suspicions  of  the  Moor,  consist  not 
in  their  falsehood  but  in  their  truth. 

I  have  said  the  character  of  Desdemona  was  defi- 
cient in  delicacy.  Besides  the  instances  to  which  I 
referred  in  proof  of  this  charge,  observe  what  she 
says  in  pleading  for  the  restoration  of  Cassio  to  his 
office,  from  which  he  had  been  cashiered  by  Othello 
for  beastly  drunkenness  and  a  consequent  night- 
brawl,  in  which  he  had  stabbed  Montano — the  pre- 
decessor of  Othello  as  Governor  of  Cyprus — and 
nearly  killed  him ;  yet  in  urging  Othello  to  restore 
Cassio  to  his  office  and  to  favor,  Desdemona  says — 

" — in  faith,  he's  penitent ; 
And  yet  his  trespass,  in  our  common  reason, 
(Save  that,  they  say,  the  wars  must  make  examples 
Out  of  their  best,)  is  not  almost  a  fault 
To  incur  a  private  check." 

]S"ow,  to  palliate  the  two  crimes  of  Cassio — his 
drunken  fit  and  his  stabbing  of  Montano — the  reader 
knows  that  he  has  been  inveigled  to  the  commission 
of  them  by  the  accursed  artifices  of  lago  /  but  Des- 
demona  knows  nothiug  of  this ;  she  has  no  excuse 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  245 

for  Cassio — nothing  to  plead  for  him  but  his  pbni- 
tence.  And  is  this  the  character  for  a  woman  of 
delicate  sentiment  to  give  of  such  a  complicated  and 
heinous  offence  as  that  of  which  Cassio  had  been 
guilty,  even  when  pleading  for  his  pardon  ?  No  !  it 
is  not  for  female  delicacy  to  extenuate  the  crimes  of 
drunkenness  and  bloodshed,  even  when  performing 
the  appropriate  office  of  raising  the  soul-subduing 
voice  for  mercy. 

Afterwards,  in  the  same  speech,  she  says — 

"  What !  Michael  Cassio, 
That  came  a-wooing  with  you;  and  many  a  time, 
When  I  have  spoke  of  you  dispraisingly, 
Hath  ta'en  your  part;  to  have  so  much  to  do 
To  bring  him  in  !" 

I  will  not  inquire  how  far  this  avowal  that  she  had 
been  in  the  frequent  habit  of  speaking  dispraisingly 
of  Othello  at  the  very  time  when  she  was  so  deej^ly 
enamored  with  his  honors  and  his  valiant  parts, 
was  consistent  with  sincerity.  Young  ladies  must 
be  allowed  a  little  concealment  and  a  little  disguise, 
even  for  passions  of  which  they  have  no  need  to  be 
ashamed.  It  is  the  rosy  pudency — the  irresistible 
charm  of  the  sex  ;  but  the  exercise  of  it  in  satirical 
censure  upon  the  very  object  of  their  most  ardent 
affections  is  certainly  no  indication  of  innocence, 
simplicity,  or  artlessness. 

I  still  retain,  tlien,  the  opinion — 
\' First.     That  the  passion  of  Desdcmona  for  Othello 


246  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

is  Mnnatural^  solely  and  exclusively  because  of  liis 
color. 

'M  Second.  That  lier  elopement  to  him,  and  secret 
marriage  with  him,  indicate  a  personal  character  not 
only  very  deficient  in  delicacy,  but  totally  regard- 
less of  filial  duty,  of  female  modesty,  and  of  ingenu- 
ous shame. 

XiThird.  That  her  deficiency  in  delicacy  is  discerni- 
ble in  her  conduct  and  discourse  throughout  the 
play. 

I  perceive  and  acknowledge,  indeed,  the  admira- 
ble address  with  wdiich  the  part  has  been  contrived 
to  inspire  and  to  warm  the  breast  of  the  spectator 
with  a  deep  interest  in  her  fate  ;  and  I  am  well 
aware  that  my  ow^n  comparative  insensibility  to  it  is 
not  in  unison  with  the  general  impression  which  it 
produces  upon  the  stage.  I  shrink  from  the  thought 
of  slandering  even  a  creature  of  the  imagination. 
When  the  spectator  or  reader  follows,  on  the  stage 
or  in  the  closet,  the  infernal  thread  of  duplicity  and 
of  execrable  devices  with  which  lacjo  entangles  his 
victims,  it  is  the  purpose  of  the  dramatist  to  merge 
all  the  faults  and  vices  of  the  sufi'erers  in  the  over- 
whelming flood  of  their  calamities,  and  in  the 
nnmingled  detestation  of  the  inhuman  devil,  their 
betrayer  and  destroyer.  And  in  all  this,  1  see  not 
only  the  skill  of  the  artist,  but  the  power  of  the 
moral  operator,  the  purifier  of  the  spectator's  heart 
by  the  agency  of  terror  and  pity. 

The  characters  of  Othello  and  Desdemona^  like  all 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  247 

tlie  characters  of  men  and  women  in  real  life,  are  of 
"  miDgled  yarn,"  with  qualities  of  good  and  bad — 
of  virtues  and  vices  in  proportion  diii'erentlj  com- 
posed. Icujo^  with  a  high  order  of  intellect,  is,  in 
moral  principle,  the  very  si^irit  of  evil.  I  have  said 
the  moral  of  the  tragedy  is,  that  the  intermarriage 
of  black  and  white  blood  is  a  violation  of  the  law^  of 
nature.  That  is  the  lesson  to  be  learned  from  the 
play.  To  exhibit  all  the  natural  consequences  of 
their  act,  the  poet  is  compelled  to  make  the  marriage 
secret.  It  must  commence  by  an  elopement,  and 
by  an  outrage  upon  the  decorum  of  social  inter- 
course. He  must  therefore  assume,  for  the  perform- 
ance of  this  act,  persons  of  moral  character  suffi- 
ciently frail  and  imperfect  to  be  capable  of  perform- 
ing it,  but  in  other  respects  endowed  with  pleasing 
and  estimable  qualities.  Thus,  the  Moor  is  repre- 
sented as  of  a  free,  and  open,  and  generous  nature ; 
as  a  Christian  ;  as  a  distinguished  military  com- 
mander in  the  service  of  the  republic  of  Venice  ; — 
as  having  rendered  important  service  to  the  State, 
and  as  being  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  splendid  reputa- 
tion as  a  warrior.  The  other  party  to  the  marriage 
is  a  maiden,  fair,  gentle,  and  accomplished;  born 
and  educated  in  the  proudest  rank  of  Yenetian 
nobility. 

Othello^  setting  aside  his  color,  has  every  quality 
to  fascinate  and  charm  the  female  heart.  Desde- 
QiKnia^  apart  from  the  grossness  of  her  fault 
in  being  accessible  to  such  a  passion  for  such   an 


248  SHAKESPEEEAN   SUBJECTS. 

object,  is  amiable  and  lovelj ;  among  the  most 
attractive  of  lier  sex  and  condition.  Tlie  faults  of 
their  characters  are  never  brought  into  action 
excepting  as  they  illustrate  the  moral  principle  of 
the  whole  story.  Othello  is  not  jealous  by  nature. 
On  the  contrary,  with  a  strong  natural  understand- 
ing, and  all  the  vigilance  essential  to  an  experienced 
commander,  he  is  of  a  disposition  so  unsuspicious 
and  confiding,  that  he  believes  in  the  exceeding 
honesty  of  lago  long  after  he  has  ample  cause  to 
suspect  and  distrust  him.  Desdertwna^  sujyersid^tle 
as  she  is  in  the  management  of  her  amour  with 
Othello  ^  deeply  as  she  dissembles  to  deceive  her 
father  ;  and  forward  as  she  is  in  inviting  the  court- 
ship of  the  Moor ;  discovers  neither  artifice  nor 
duplicity  from  the  moment  that  she  is  Othello's  wife. 
Her  innocence,  in  all  her  relations  with  him,  is  pure 
and  spotless ;  her  kindness  for  Cassio  is  mere  un- 
tainted benevolence  ;  and,  though  unguarded  in  her 
personal  deportment  towards  him,  it  is  far  from  the 
slightest  soil  of  culpable  impropriety.  Guiltless  of 
all  conscious  reproach  in  this  part  of  her  conduct, 
she  never  uses  any  of  the  artifices  to  which  she  had 
resorted  to  accomplish  her  marriage  with  Othello. 
Always  feeling  that  she  has  given  him  no  cause  of 
suspicion,  her  endurance  of  his  cruel  treatment  and 
brutal  abuse  of  her  through  all  its  stages  of  violence, 
till  he  murders  her  in  bed,  is  always  marked  with 
the  most  affecting  sweetness  of  temper,  the  most 
perfect  artlessness,  and  the  most  endeai'ing  resigna- 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  249 

tion.  The  defects  of  her  cliaracter  have  here  no 
room  for  development,  and  the  poet  carefully  keeps 
them  out  of  sight.  Hence  it  is  that  the  general 
reader  and  spectator,  with  Dr.  Johnson,  give  lier 
imqualified  credit  for  soft  simplicity,  artlessness,  and 
innocence — forgetful  of  the  qualities  of  a  different 
and  opposite  character,  stamped  upon  the  transac- 
tions by  which  she  effected  her  marriage  with  the 
Moor.  The  marriage,  however,  is  the  source  of  all 
her  calamities ;  it  is  the  primitive  cause  of  all  the 
tragic  incidents  of  the  play,  and  of  its  terrible  cata- 
strophe. That  the  moral  lesson  to  be  learned  from  it 
is  of  no  practical  utility  in  England,  where  there  are 
no  valiant  Moors  to  steal  the  affections  of  fair  and 
high-born  dames,  may  be  true  ;  the  lesson,  however, 
is  not  the  less,  couched  under  the  form  of  an  admi- 
rable drama ;  nor  needs  it  any  laborious  effort  of  the 
imagination  to  extend  the  moral  precept  resulting 
from  the  story  to  a  salutary  admonition  against  all 
ill-assorted,  clandestine,  and  unnatural  mari*iages. 

J.  Q.  A. 


From  Mr.  Washington  Irving. 

New  York,  April  17,  1848. 

My  Dear  Sir  : — I  have  detained  your  manuscript 
notes  an  unconscionable  time,  but  I  could  not  help 
it.  I  wished  to  read  them  attentively,  for  they  are 
remarkably  suggestive,   and   not   to   be  read  in  a 

11^ 


260  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

huiTj ;  "but  for  the  last  two  or  tliree  months  spent 
among  my  friends  and  relatives  in  my  native  city 
after  an  absence  of  several  years,  I  have  been  kept 
in  such  a  round  of  engagements,  and  such  constant 
excitement,  that  I  have  only  now  and  then  been 
able  to  command  a  little  leisure  and  quiet  for  read- 
ing and  reflection.  At  such  moments  I  have  perused 
your  manuscripts  by  piecemeal,  and  now  return  you 
my  many  thanks  for  the  great  pleasure  they  have 
afforded  me.  I  will  not  pretend  to  enter  at  j^resent 
into  any  discussion  of  the  topics  they  embrace,  for  I 
have  not  sufficient  faith  in  my  critical  acumen  to 
commit  my  thoughts  to  paper,  but  when  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  with  you  personally,  we  will 
talk  over  these  matters  as  largely  as  you  please.  I 
have  seen  all  the  leading  characters  of  Shakespeare 
played  by  the  best  actors  in  America  and  England 
during  the  present  century ;  some  of  them  too, 
admirably  performed  in  Germany :  I  have  heard 
some  of  them  chanted  in  the  Italian  Opera,  and  I 
have  seen  the  Ballet  of  Hamlet  gravely  danced  at 
Yienna.  Yet  with  all  this  experience,  I  feel  that  I 
am  an  amateur  rather  than  a  connoisseur ;  prone  to 
receive  great  pleasure  without  nicely  analysing  the 
source,  and  sometimes  apt  to  clap  my  hands  when 
grave  critics  shake  their  heads. 

Excuse  this  scrawl,  written  in  a  hurried  moment, 
and  believe  me,  wdth  great  respect  and  regard. 
Your  obliged  friend  and  servant, 

Washington  Irving. 

James  H.  Hackett,  Esq. 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  251 

Mr.  IIaclie.it  to  the  Earl  of  CtLrlisle. 

43  St,  jAiiEs's  Place,  Loxdox,  i 
December  26,  1851.  ( 

My  Loed  : — In  compliance  with  your  compliinen- 
taiy  request,  and  in  tlie  hope  of  furnishing  a  little 
discursive  and  desultory  entertainment,  I  submit 
herewith  to  your  lordship's  convenient  perusal 
copies  of  my  correspondence  respecting  Hcmilet  and 
other  Shakespearean  subjects,  together  with  com- 
ments thereupon  by  certain  literati. 

The  "  manuscript  volume  "  of  mine  referred  to  in 
the  letter  of  Mr.  Washington  Irving,  and  also  in 
the  later  of  the  two  letters  of  the  late  Hon.  John 
Quincy  Adams,  I  would  hesitate — had  I  it  with  me 
— to  obtrude  upon  your  time  and  notice  ;  as — though 
copiously  mingled  with  explanations  of  points 
mootable  by  a  professed  Shakespearean  student  and 
critic — much  of  the  matter  involved  having  special 
reference  to  the  different  stvles  of  renderino:  the 
text  by  certain  actors  whom  I  have  seen  (and  noted) 
witliin  the  last  thirty  years  represent  Hamlet  and 
King  Lear^  it  might  prove  too  didactic  to  be  inte- 
resting to  the  general  and  unprofessional  reader. 

The  latest  intelligence  from  Washington  respect- 
ing our  venerated  friend,  Mr.  Clay^  announces  a  fear- 
fully rapid  and  visible  decline  of  health  in  that  per- 
sonally beloved  and  nationally  respected  statesman. 

Your  lordship's  obliged  and  obedient  servant, 

(Signed) 

Jas.  H.  Hackett. 

R.  H.  the  Earl  of  Carlisle. 


252  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 


Lord  Carlisle's  Reply, 

Grosvenor  Place,  February  9,  1852. 

My  deae  Mr.  Hackett  : — I  am  afraid  I  have  kept 
your  volume  longer  than  I  ought  to  have  done,  as  I 
had  not  leisure  for  some  time  to  render  justice  to 
its  contents,  but  I  have  now  perused  them  with 
great  pleasure  and  interest. 

The  meanings  and  characters  of  Shakespeare 
supply  matter  for  reflexion  that  can  never  be  ex- 
hausted. I  must  be  allowed  to  think  that  upon  the 
points  in  controversy  between  you  and  Mr.  Adams 
on  the  character  of  Hamlet  I  am  disposed  to  side 
entirely  with  you.  I  know  the  great  respect  and 
deference  which  are  due  to  a  person  so  really  emi- 
nent as  Mr.  Adams.  I  think  him  probably  quite  in 
the  right  about  Juliet^  but  you  must  excuse  me  for 
observing,  with  respect  to  his  views  upon  Othello^ 
that  I  feel  assured  there  is  not  a  single  man  in 
Europe  who  would  coincide  in  his  views  of  what 
the  chief  moral  is,  that  is  to  be  deduced  from  that 
surpassing  tragedy.  I  see  none  of  your  criticisms 
are  addressed  to  the  play  of  Macbeth^  in  my  mind 
the  very  highest  in  order  of  all  the^  few  which  seem 
to  me  indisjDutably  higher  than  all  the  rest — Macbeth^ 
Hamlet^  Othello^  Lear.  When  I  say  this,  however, 
I  never  could  quarrel  with  a  person  who  puts  Hain- 
let  even  above  Macbeth. 


SnAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  253 

Again  tlianking  you  for  the  perusal  of  this  very 
interesting  vohime, 

Believe  me,  dear  sir, 

Your  very  faithful  servant, 

Carlisle. 


'  44  St.  James  Place,  July  1,  1845. 

To  John  Payne  Collier^  JEsq.^ 

My  Dear  Slr — As  you  expressed  a  desire  not 
only  to  read  my  ]S^ote-Book,  but  to  see  a  specimen 
of  our  American  edition  of  Shakespeare,  I  send 
you  herewith  "  Ko.  4,"  an  odd  part,  but  the  only 
one  which  I  happened  to  have  with  me  in  your 
country.  It  contains  some  scenes  of  Hamlet  ^\\i\\ 
original  and  selected  notes  by  our  American  editor, 
Mr.  Yerplanck,  to  wdiich  have  been  added  by  my- 
self some  very  cursory  and  detached  marginal  scrib- 
blings  of  my  own  ideas,  as  I  glanced  over  the  w^ork. 

*  Mr.  Collier  had  been  often  met  by  me  at  the  Garrick  Club,  of 
which  he  was  an  original,  and  I  whenever  visiting  England  elected  an 
honorary  member.  He  was  distinguished  at  that  time  as  an  anti- 
quarian of  great  research,  and  has  since  published  an  edition  of  Shake- 
speare, and  subsequently  a  volume  of  "  Notes  and  Emendations  to  the 
Text  of  Shakespeare's  Plays."' — J.  II.  H.^  1854. 


254  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 


FUGITIVE  NOTES  UrON  VERPLANCk's  EDITION  OF  HAMLET. 


"  In  the  dead  ivast  and  middle  of  the  night" — Folio  1623. 
"  "  waist  '"  " — Malone's  edit. 

"  *  waste  "  " — VerplancJc's" 

I  think,  "  The  dead  waist  of  the  night,"  is  simj)ly 
what  we  term  "  the  dead  of  night,"  viz.  midnight ; 
tliat  part  of  the  night  which  the  poet  refers  to  in 
another  place — 

"  Thus  twice  before  and  jump  at  this  dead  hour," 

because,  then — 

"  O'er  the  one  half  world 
Nature  seems  dead," 

the  w^ord  "  dead,"  prefixed  to  the  w^ord  '*  waist "  in 
the  above  quotation,  therefore,  means,  the  exact 
waist  and  middle  of  the  night ;  the  use  of  the  word 
"  waist "  is  figurative  ;  I^ight,  in  various  places,  by 
poetic  license,  being  invested  with  human  shape,  for 
examples — 

"  Beshrew  the  witch  !  with  venomous  wights  she  stays." 

[^Troil.  a7id  Cressida. 
"  Blackbrow'd  Night." — Mids.  NigMs  Dream. 
"  Night,  whose  black  contagious  breath." — King  John. 

"' whose  pitchy  mantle  over- veiled  the  earth." 

[1  K.  Henry  VI. 

Respecting  tlie  ancient  orthography  of  the  word 
which  we  now  write  "  waist,^''  Shakespeare,  in  the 


SnAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  255 

Folio  1G23,  spells  it  "  wast "  and  ''  'waste^^  promiscu- 
ously ;  but  his  context  admits  of  no  question  as  to 
his  meaning ;  for  examples — 

*'His  neck  will  come  to  your  wast;  a  cord,  Sir." 

[J/eas.  f6r  Meas. 
"  Then  you  live  about  her  waste  or  in  the  middle  of  her 
favours." — Ham. 

In  another  play  he  puns  upon  wast  and  waste^  thus — 

"  Indeed,  I  am  in  the  luaste  two  yards  about,  but  now  I  am 
about  no  waste,  I  am  about  thrift." — Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

That  Shakespeare  confounded,  in  his  spelling, 
"  vast^''  with  what  he  means  where  he  writes  "  wast " 
or  "  waste^''  I  cannot  admit ;  wherever  I  have  found 
them  in  the  Folio^  these  words  are  used  in  distinct 
senses,  and  never  seem  intended  as  synonymous.  It 
is  true,  as  Mr.  Yerplanck  remarks,  that  "  "oast "  is 
"  taken  in  its  primitive  Latin  sense,  for  desolate, 
void,"  which  might  pass  for  a  synonyme  of  the 
modern  word,  "  waste^''  but  certainly  not  for  waist  '^ 

for  examples — 

"  urchins 

Shall,  for  that  vast  of  night  that  they  may  work, 
All  exercise  on  thee." — Tempest,  Act  1,  Sc.  1. 

which  sentence,  I  take  it,  means  that  these  tormen- 
tors (the  urchins)  shall,  for  that  open  or  vacant  S2yace 
during  the  night  time  wherein  they  are,  by  witch- 
craft, privileged  to  be  mischievous,  practise  alto- 
gether upon  Caliban. 


256  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

Ao:ain — 


'-&• 


"  Though  absent,  shook  hands  as  over  a  vast,  and  embraced, 
&c."—  Wintei^'s  Tale,  Act  I,  Sc.  1. 

Again — 

"  I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep." — Henry  IV. 

the  adjective  "  vasty  "  partaking  of  the  same  quality 
as  Vastwm^  its  Latin  radix — "  In  gurgite  Vasto  " — 
Virgil. 

It  seems  to  me,  therefore,  that  vast,  and  luast  or 
waste,  could  not  reasonably  have  been  written  by 
Shakespeare  to  express  one  and  the  same  idea; 
besides,  to  call  any  part  of  the  night  time,  between 
the  hours  of  twelve  and  one,  a  "  dead  waste,"  or 
iiseless  superfluity,  or  barren  desert,  as  Mr.  Yer- 
planck  seems  to  understand  it,  is  a  far-fetched  figure 
Ynjpoetry  whilst  it  is  an  absurdity  vn  fact 'j  because, 
in  the  economy  of  Nature,  the  darkest  hour  of  the 
niglit  is  no  more  a  Ijarren  loaste  than  the  lightest  one 
of  the  day  I  inasmuch  as  Time  proceeds  at  the  same 
pace  in  each  alternation,  and,  whether  night  or  day, 
one  is  the  sequence  of  the  other,  and  both  together 
consummate  the  natural  day. 

"  I  boarded  the  king's  ship :  now  on  tlie  beak, 
Now  in  the  waste,  the  deck,  in  every  cabin." — Tempest. 

Yet  notwithstanding  this  and  the  numerous  other 
instances  of  the  signification  obviously  attached  to 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  257 

Shakespeare,  when  he  spelled  the  word  "  wade^'' 
Mr.  Yerplanck  says — 

"  To  suppose  that  the  poet  meant  waistj  for  middle,  as  seve- 
ral editors  have  maintained,  and  many  printed  the  text,  seems 
ludicrously  absurd." — See  Yerplanck' s  Hamlet. 

whereas,  I  must  contend  for  its  strict  propriety  in 
this  particular  line,  whetlier  considered  in  its  simple 
and  ordinary,  or  its  lateral  and  figurative  sense  ;  if 
it  be  argued  against  waist^  that  the  addition  ("  and 
Qniddle''^)  makes  palpable  tautology,  let  it  be  ob- 
served that  these  pleonasms,  or  doitble  expressions 
of  a  single  idea,  are  not  uncommon  to  Shakespeare's 
style,  and  more  deeply  impress  and  powerfully 
enforce  a  sentiment ;  for  examples — 

"  Or  given  my  heart  a  working,  mute  and  diimhy — Hamlet. 
"  Many  a  time  and  oft." — Mercliant  of  Venice. 
"  Time  and  the  hour  run  through  the  roughest  day." — Macb. 
"  Then  you  live  about  the  vmist  or  in  the  middle  of  her  fa- 
vours."— Hamlet. 

The  same  gain  of  strength  in  expression,  may  be 
imputed,  however  ungrammatical  to  modern  taste,  to 
Shakespeare's  double  comparatives,  as — 

*'  Your  wisdom  would  shew  itself  more  riclierU'' — Hamlet, 
"  0,  throw  away  the  worser  part  of  it." — Hamlet. 
"  The  unkindest  beast  more  Jcinder  than  mankind." 

[Ti7non  of  Athens. 

"  Polonius.  Do  you  know  me,  my  lord  ? 
Hamlet.  Excellent  well !  you  are  a  fishmonger." 


258  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

'■'You  are  sent  to  fisli  out  this  secret.  That  is  Hamlet's 
meaning." —  Coleridge. 

With  due  reference  to  Coleridge,  and  to  Mr.  Yer- 
planck's  taste  in  adopting  his  idea,  I  beg  leave  to 
diifer ;  because,  if  such  hadhQQn  Hartilefs  meaning, 
Sliakespeare  would  have  selected  the  word,  fisher^ 
or  fisherinan  j  the  former  he  nses  in  his  Comedy  of 
Errors^  and  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  /  and  the  latter  in 
King  Lear  /  a  fisTitnonger  is  a  dealer  in  fish ;  one 
who  buys  to  sell  again,  and  Hamlet  calls  Polonius 
"  a  fishmonger,"  not  because  he  thinks  he  is  "  sent 
to  fish  out  this  secret,"  but  because  of  his  habitual 
importunity  to  procure  a  stock  of  news  and  then  to 
hasten  to  the  king,  his  ready  customer,  and  deal  it 
out  to  him  before  the  commodity,  fish-like^  can 
become  stale  on  his  hands ;  the  same  pregnancy  of 
reply  is  discernible  afterwards  when  Samlet  com- 
pares Kozencrantz  to  a  sponge^ 

"  that  soaks  up  the  king's  countenance, 
His  rewards,  his  authorities." 

''  I  know  a  hawk  from  a  handsaw." 

See  my  comment  on  this  passage,  in  l^otice  of 
Macreadi/s  Hamlet. 

"  The  croaking  raven  doth  bellow  for  revenge." 

Mr.  Yerplanck  says — 

"  It  resembles  the  poet's  own  strong  figure  elsewhere.''' 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  259 

Of  course,  the  figure  referred  to  elsewhere,  can  be 
no  other  than — 

" the  raven  himself  is  hoarse 


That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements." 

Tliere  may  be  some  analogy  in  the  sentiment,  but 
not  the  least  in  the  occasion  /  the  figure  in  Macbeth 
has  special  reference  to  the  inessenger — 

"  Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Than  would  make  up  his  message," 

and  who  is  therefore  compared  by  Ladj  Macbeth  to 
a  raven^  because  he  could  only  croalc  out  his  news. 

"  jSTow  could  I  drink  hot  blood, 
And  do  such  hitter  business  as  the  day 
Would  quake  to  look  on." 

I  fully  concur  with  Mr.  Yerplanck  in  his  prefer- 
ence to  this  reading,  which  is  that  of  the  Folio^ 
because,  the  meaning  of  "  bitter  "  is  obvious,  when 
applied  to  "  business,"  which  it  qualifies  in  concord- 
ance with — 

" the  bloody  book  of  law 

You  shall  yourself  read  in  the  hitter  letter." — Othelh. 


a2:am- 


"  My  spirit  and  my  place  have  in  them  power 
To  make  this  hitter  to  thee." — Ihiclem. 


260  SHAEESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

Reply  from  J.  Payne  CoUier,  F.S.A. 

Victoria  Road,  Kensington,  10  Jul}',  1845. 
My  Dear  Sir — I  return  your  E'otes  with  my  best 
thanks.  Of  course  you  do  not  expect  any  man  to 
go  all  lengths  with  you,  but  I  have  been  much  grati- 
fied by  the  novelty^  ingenuity,  and  acuteness,  of 
some  of  your  views,  even  when  I  did  not  agree  in 
them. 

I  return  you  also  the  number  of  the  American 
Shakespeare  with  your  MS.  notes  thereupon.  I 
perceive  that  you  do  not  always  accord  with  Mr. 
Yerj)lanck,  and  I  am  of  your  mind  in  several 
instances. 

I  remain,  my  dear  sir. 

Yours  very  sincerely  and  much  obliged, 

J.  Patne  Collier. 

James  H.  Hackett,  Esq. 


SHAIvESPEEEAl^    YEEBAL   NICETIES. 

Some  of  my  fellow-members  of  the  Union  Club, 
having  had  a  very  nice  discussion,  and  been  unable 
to  agree,  sought  the  favor  of  my  written  opinion  on 
the  subject. 

The  point  to  be  settled  was :  which  of  two  words 
— difiering  widely  in  their  sense,  though  slightly  in 
their  orthography — was  intended  by  Shakespeare,  in 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  261 

that  line  oiMacbetJu  ^vliich,  in  t\\Q  first  edition  of  his 
plays,  is  printed, 

"  Sleep — that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleeve  of  care," 

but  by  modern  editors  has  had  the  word  "  sleav6  " 
substituted  for  that  of  "  sleeve  "  in  the  original. 
I  replied  to  the  foregoing  inquiry,  thus  : 

"  When  tilings  appear  unnatural  and  hard, 
Consult  your  author  with  himself  compar'd." 

Moscommon. 

In  order  to  satisfy  one's  self  of  Shakespeare's 
meaning  in  the  line, 

"  Sleep — that  knits  up  the  raveU'd  sleeve  of  care," 

it  is  expedient  to  examine  minutely  every  context, 
in  his  range  of  plays,  wherein  either  of  the  following 
words  are  used  by  him — viz.  sleeve^  sleejp^  hiit  up, 
ravel,  and  care;  because,  connected  with  one  or 
other  of  these  w^ords,  some  concordance  may  be 
detected  which  would  render  clear  the  poet's  inten- 
tion. 

Ifrs.  Gowden  Clarhe^s  comjplete  Yerbal  Index  to 
Shakespeare,  furnishes  a  very  ready  medium  for 
reference  to  every  context  of  each  of  the  above 
words.  She  gives  the  word  "  sleave  "  but  once  as  a 
noun,  throughout  Shakespeare's  works,  and  that  in 
the  passage  quoted  above — being  so  spelled  in 
Knight's  (modern)  "  Pictorial  Edition,"  to  which  her 


262  SHAKESPEEEAN  SUBJECTS. 

compilation  expressly  refers  ;  slie  finds  however  the 
word  "  sleeve"  in  some  twenty-live  other  places  and 
where  its  s^pecial  reference  to  "  a  covering  for  the 
human  arm  "  is  palpable  and  indisputable.  ITow, 
though  many  of  the  modern  editions  have  printed  in 
this  text,  "  sleave,"  the  Fii'st  Folio^  commonly 
called  "  The  Players'  edition,"  has  no  such  orthogra- 
23hy  of  the  word  as  "  sleave  " — being  in  this  passage, 
as  in  all  others,,  "  sleeve ;"  however,  that,  ^er  se^  is 
not  conclusive  evidence  that  a  distinct  meaning  may 
not  have  been  designed  ;  forasmuch  as,  in  that 
same  old  edition,  published  in  1623,  wast^  waste,  and 
waist,  are  printed  indiscriminately  for  the  human 
waist ;  but,  as  it  is  unusual  for  any  author  to  use  the 
same  word  to  express  two  such  very  distinct  and 
dissimilar  things  as  "  a  knitted  covering  for  the  arm," 
and  a  "  skein  of  unwrought  silk,"  and,  as  Shake- 
speare in  no  othej'  place  out  of  twenty-five  examples, 
uses  "  sleeve  "  or  "  sleave,"  where  it  can  possibly 
be  intended  to  mean  skein,  it  seems  singular  that  if 
he  so  intended  he  should  not  have  written  "  skein" 
instead  ;  being  a  word  used  by  him  elsewhere  in  his 
writings.  The  metre  of  the  line  too  would  have 
stood  the  same,  and  the  sense  of  the  reader,  and  es- 
pecially the  andience — for  which  he  specially  wrote 
— would  not  then  have  been  so  naturally  confounded. 
The  only  approximation  throughout  Shakespeare  to 
any  form  of  the  word  "  sleave,"  ("  a  skein  or  knot  of 
silk,")  may  be  seen  in  a  line  of  "Troilus  and 
Cressida,"  which  (in  the  folio  of  1623)  reads  thus, 


SHAKESPERPZAN   SUBJECTS.  203 


-thou  immaterial  shein  of  sleyed  silk  j 


and  again  in  "  Pericles," 


"weaved  the  sleided  silk." 


These  references  to  nnwroiiglit  silk,  are  so  clear  and 
distinct,  that  it  seems  very  incongrnous  that  the 
nonn  "  sleave "  should  have  been  made  a  solitary 
nse  of,  in  the  whole  course  of  his  works,  to  indicate 
"  skein  or  knot  of  silk,"  though  it  is  proved  satisfac- 
torily by  lexicography  that  such  a  word  as  "  sleave," 
and  in  such  sense,  was  used  by  other  writers  of 
Shakespeare's  time — see  TodcFs  Jolinsori^s  Diction- 
ary^ 3  "cols.  4:to.^  London^  1827,  for  definition  of,  and 
authorities  for  "  sleeve "  and  "  sleave ;"  also,  the 
"  litotes  "  of  various  commentators  upon  this  passage, 
in  Malone's  edition  of  Shakespeare,  21  vols.  8vo., 
London,  1821." 

*  Extracts  from  Commentators'  notes  upon  Macbeth.  Malone's  edi- 
tion, 21  vols.  8vo..  London,  1821. 

" the  ravell'd  sleave  of  care." 

Sleave  signifies  the  "  ravelled  knotty  part  of  the  silk,  which  gives 
great  trouble  and  embarrassment  to  the  knitter  or  weaver." — Heath. 

Dayton,  a  Poet  of  Shakespeare's  age,  has  likewise  alluded  to 
"sleaved"  or  "ravelled"  silk,  in  his  Quest  of  Cynthia: 

"  At  length  I  on  a  fountain  light, 
Whose  brim  with  pinks  was  platted. 
The  banks  with  daffodillies  dight 
With  grass,  like  sleave  was  matted/' — Langton. 

Sleave  is  properly  silk  which  has  not  been  twisted.    It  is  mentioned 


264  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

After  a  patient  search  tlirouglioiit  Shakespeare 
for,  and  a  deliberate  consideration  of,  every  word 
elsewhere,  which  relates  to  either  in  the  line — 

"  Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleeve  of  care," 

I  am  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  the  metaphor  it 
contains  specially  refers  to  some  ancient,  and  now 
perhaps  by-gone  use,  or  possibly  manufacture,  of 
the  covering  for  the  human  arm,  called  a  "  sleeve," 
of  which  history  may  not  have  conserved  to  us  any 
precise  description  :  consequently,  the  figure  may 
seem  somewhat  obscure  when  first  presented  to  the 
mind ;  and  hence,  the  proposed  emendation  of 
"  sleeve  "  into  "  sleave,"  but  too  readily  commends 

in  Hollinshed's  History  of  England,  p.  835  :  "  Eight  wild  men  all  ap- 
parelled in  green  moss  made  with  skved  silk." 
Again,  in  Muse's  Elizine  by  Drayton, 

" thrumVd  ■with  grass 


As  soft  as  sleave  or  sarcenet  ever  was." 

Again  Ibid. 

"That  in  the  handling  feels  as  soft  as  any  sleave." — Steevens. 

Sleave  appears  to  have  signified  coarse,  soft,  unwrought  sUk,  Seta 
grassolana,  Ital.  See  also  Elorio's  Italian  Dictionary,  1598 :  "  Sjilazza, 
any  kind  of  ravelled  stufie,  or  skave  silk."  "  Capitone,  a  kind  of  coarse 
silk,  called  sleave  silV^  Cotgrave,  in  his  Dictionary,  1612,  renders 
soyeflosche  '^sleave  siUc.^^  See  also.  Ibid:  "  Cadarce,  pour  faire  capi- 
ton.  The  tow  or  coarsest  part  of  silke,  whereof  sleave  is  made."  In 
Troilus  and  Cressida  we  have — 

"Thou  idle  immaterial  skein  oi sleave^  silk."— Malone. 
1  Sle'v'd  silk.    Folio. 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  265 

itself  to  our  adoption,  and  involves  the  idea  that — 
Sleep  knits  up  the  skein  of  care^  the  fibres  of  which 
had  heen  ravelled  in  the  weaving  /  a  solution  very 
plausible,  if  not  satisfactory. 

It  seems,  however,  from  various  references  to  the 
fact  in  Shakespeare,  that  it  was  customary,  when 
any  object  was  near  any  one's  heart,  to  "  pin  it 
upon  his  sleeve,"  where  it  would  be  sure  to  be  con- 
stantly under  his  eye  ;  as — 

"  The  gallant  pins  the  wenches  on  his  sleeved 

Love's  Labour's  Lost. 

Also,  to  hang  out  or  expose  his  secret  motives,  lago 
says, 

'•  I'll  wear  my  heart  upon  my  sleeve." — Othello. 

Further,  among  Shakespeare's  poetic  figures  of  care 

are  these — 

"  Golden  care 
That  kcep'st  the  ports  of  slumber  open  wide." 

Henry  the  Fourth,  Part  Secotid. 

"  Care  keeps  his  watch  in  every  old  man's  eye, 
And  where  ca7'e  lodge&j.  sleep  will  never  lie." 

Romeo  and  Juliet. 

In  connection,  too,  with  the  though tfuln ess  of  care, 
the  following  quotation  is  not  irrelevant : 

"  Then  your  hose  should  be  ungarter'd,  your  bonnet  un- 
handed, your  sleeve  unhuttoned,  your  shoe  untied,  and  every- 
thing about  you  demonstrating  a  careless  desolation." 

As  You  Like  It  Act  3. 
12 


266  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

E'ow,  if  Care's  "  sleeve  "  was  a  "  skein  of  silk," 
he  was  unworthy  of  his  name  to  let  it  become 
"  ravell'd "  at  all.  In  conclusion,  I  would  submit 
whether  the  following  is  a  far-fetched  or  an  incon- 
gruous comprehension  of  the  line  in  question  : 

"  Gare^''  who  is  called  "  husy^^^  and  whose  sleeve 
from  habitual  use  has  'been  '^  ravelV d,^''  finds  it 
restored  hy  sleejp  :  the  ravelled  meshes  of  his  "  sleeve^"^ 
having  heen  "  hnit  uj> "  whilst  husy  Care's  senses 
were  steeped  in  forgetfulness^  and  afforded  the  requi- 
site ojpportunity.  J.  H.  H. 

Ravelled  means  entangled.  So,  in  the  Two  Gen- 
tlemen of  Verona^  Thurio  says  to  Proteus.,  speaking 
of  Sylvia, 

"  Therefore  as  you  unwived  her  love  from  him, 
Lest  it  should  ravel^  and  be  good  to  none, 
You  must  provide  to  bottom  it  on  me." — M,  Mason. 

Among  other  significations  confirmed  by  quota- 
tions from  standard  authors  in  Todd's  edition  of 
Johnson's  Dictionary,  3  vols.  4:to.  London,  1827, 
are  found  the  following,  under  the  word 

"  Sleeve, — In  some  provinces  signifies  a  knot,  or 
skein  of  silk,  which  is  by  some  very  probably  sup- 
posed to  be  its  meaning  in  the  following  passage, 

"  Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleeve  of  care." — Macbeth. 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  267 

Under  the  caption  of  Sleaye,  Dr.  Johnson  says  : 
"  Of  this  word  I  know  not  well  the  meaning 
sleave-silh  is  explained  by  GoxMui^in  Jiocmcs  serious 
— a  lock  of  silk  ;  and  the  women  still  say,  '  sleave 
the  silk '  for  untwist  it.  Ainsworth  calls  a  weaver's 
shuttle  or  reed,  a  slaie^  or  sley.  To  sley  is  to  part  a 
twist  into  single  fibres." 

Yarious  other  authorities  are  also  quoted.  See 
TodcVs  Johnson, 

A  ruGrriYE  Is^ote. 

"Nor  the  gait  of  Christian,  Pagan,  or  Norman^ 

Folio,  1623.     Hamlet. 

Modern  editors  have  altered  "  or  Gorman "  to 
"  nor  man,"  by  striking  out  the  conjunction  and 
dividing  the  word. 

Irajprimis. — As  Christians  and  Pagans^  too,  were 
men,  the  change  is  pointless  and  nonsensical : — and 
I  would  submit  whether  Shakespeare  did  not  write 
u  ^y,  Norman  f  "  When  one  takes  the  pains  to 
search,  and  discover,  and  reflect  upon  the  follovtdng 
reference  to  "  a  JS'orman  .*" — 

"  King.  Two  months  since, 

Here  was  a  gentleman  from  Normandy, — 
I  have  seen  myself,  and  serv'd  against  the  French, 
And  they  ran  ^e\\  on  horseback :  but  this  gallant 
Had  witchcraft  in't  ;*  he  grew  into  his  seat ; 

*  Mr.  Sieevens  says  : — "This  is  from  Sidney's  Arcadia,  book  2.  As 
if)  Ceutaur-Hke,  the  rider  had  been  one  piece  with  his  horse." 


268  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

And  to  such  wondrous  doing  brought  his  Jiorse, 

As  he  had  been  incorps'd  and  demi-natured 

With  the  brave  beast  :*  so  far  he  passed  my  thought, 

That  I,  in  forgery  of  shapes  and  tricks, 

Come  short  of  what  he  did. 

Laertes.  A  Norman,  was't? 

King.  A  Norman."  Samlet,  Ad  4,  Sc.  7. 


I  furnislied  the  Editor  of  the  JS^ew  York  Evening 
Post  certain  matter  respecting  Harvey  and  Shalce- 
sjpeare^s  Jcnoidedge  of  the  circulation  of  the  hlood^ 
and  what  follows  appeared  in  the  columns  of  that 
public  journal,  Wednesday,  Oct.  19,  1861. 

HAEYEY  AND  SHAKESPEAEE. 

HAD   SHAKESPEAEE  A  KNOWLEDGE  OF  THE  CIKCULATION 
OF    THE   BLOOD? 

Two  papers  on  the  "  Medical  Knowledge  of  Shake- 
speare," from  the  pen  of  Mr.  James  H.  Hackett,  the 
actor,  have  been  handed  us  for  publication.  In  the 
first  of  these   papers,  which  is  given  below,  Mr. 

*  Witchcraft  inH:  that  is,  in  his  movement  on  ^^  horseback.''^  Is  it 
not  reasonable  that  Shakespeare,  in  characterizing  an  unnatural  gait, 
could  find  neither  among  Christianized  nor  pagan  man,  nor  even  in 
the  half-horse  Norman,  such  a  gait  as  certain  players  had  when  "they 
strutted  and  bellowed,"  and  that  it  caused  him  to  conclude  that, 
"  Nature's  journeymen  had  made  such  men ;  "  because  they  imitated 
humanity  so  abominably? — See  Amer.  edit.  (Redfield,  N.  T.),  1853, 
p.  452. 


SHAKE3PEREAN   SUBJECTS.  269 

Ilackett  takes  issue  witli  the  biographers  of  Dr. 
Harvey,  who  claim  for  him  the  honor  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  circuLation  of  the  blood,  and  makes 
numerous  citations  from  Shakespeare's  plays  in 
order  to  prove  that  the  bard  knew  the  secret  before 
the  physician.  Mr.  Ilackett's  speculations  are  cer- 
tainly curious.  Our  readers  will  judge  for  them- 
selves whether  he  has  established  his  case. 


shakespeaee's  knowledge   of  the  circulation   of 

the  blood. 

Bellevue  Mound,  Carlisle,  Illinois,  Sept.,  1859. 
-  During  the  last  summer  I  noticed  in  the  London 
newspapers  a  paragraph  referring  to  "  a  recent 
exhumation  of  the  corporal  remains  of  "William 
Harvey,  the  hnmortal  discoverer  of  the  circulation 
of  the  hloodr  My  recollections  of  Shakespeare's 
writings  suggested  doubts  whether  Harvey  could  be 
truly  and  exclusively  entitled  to  the  distinction,  for 
the  reason  that  I  had  been  early  in  life  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  idea  that  at  least  a  knowledge  of 
the  circulation  of  the  blood  had  been  conceded  to 
Shakespeare  by  his  readers,  and  that  most  if  not  all 
his  plays  had  been  written  either  prior  to  Harvey's 
birth,  or  to  the  period  when  he  might  have  grown 
into  contemporary  manhood,  or  become  profession- 
ally— like  Shakespeare — known  to  fame. 

By  reference  to  chronology  I  ascertain  that  Shake- 
speare was  born  (1564)  fourteen  years  prior  to  Har- 


270  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

vey  ;  and  tliat  when  he  began  to  write  his  plays 
(1589)  Harvey,  who  was  born  in  1578,  could  have 
been  only  about  eleven  years  of  age,  and  that  the 
majority  of  them  were  completed  during  Harvey's 
adolescence,  and  the  residue  wdiile  he  was  still  a 
young  man.  Shakespeare  died  in  1616,  and  had 
retired  some  years  from  dramatic  composition  and 
all  connection  with  a  theatre,  and  had  resided  at 
'New  Place,  Stratford-upon-Avon.  His  plays,  how- 
ever, or  most  of  them,  had  been  printed  and  pub- 
lished, singly  and  severally,  soon  after  they  were 
respectively  written  and  performed  upon  the  stage, 
and  may  have  been  seen  by  Harvey,  and  have  sug- 
gested a  motive  for  his  professional  study  and  de- 
monstration of  such  theory. 

Four  years  after  Shakespeare's  death,  viz.  in  1620, 
Harvey  (then  about  forty-two  years  of  age),  "  from 
his  chair  as  Professor  of  Anatomy  and  Surgery  in 
London,  announced  to  the  College  his  conviction  of 
the  fact  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood ;  and,  as  is 
also  recorded,  then  began  to  investigate  the  subject 
minutely" — and  (as  I  have  been  informed),  "  dis- 
covered and  commenced  his  work  to  demonstrate 
the  valves  which  prevented  the  return  of  the  blood 
to  the  heart  through  the  same  channel  whence  it 
had  issued  and  been  propelled  into  the  arteries." 
Harvey  finished  and  published  his  book  in  1628. 
Hence,  it  is  obvious  that  if  Shakespeare  had  any 
idea  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  he  could  not 
reasonably  have  obtained  it  from  Harvey. 


SI-TAKESPEllEAN   SUBJECTS.  271 

Without  intending  to  detract  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree from  the  merit  and  scientific  value  of  any  of 
Harvey's  investigations  and  elucidation  of  a  subject 
so  important  to  the  practice  of  surgery  and  medi- 
cine, I  must  contend  for  the  internal  evidence  fur- 
nished in  Shakespeare's  writings  of  his  having,  prior 
to  Harvey's  imputed  discovery  and  laborious  in- 
vestigations, a  clear  conception  of  the  propulsory 
action  of  the  heart  in  forcing  its 

'■'■  courses  tlirough 

The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body." 

It  should  be  premised  and  ever  remembered,  in 
one's  search  into  Shakespeare's  writings  for  any 
intrinsic  evidence  of  his  theory  upon  any  scientific 
subject,  that  it  was  not  his^;rc/'^55^(?7l  to  teach  that 
of  anatomy  or  surgeiy,  but  to  dramatize  humanity ; 
and  that  only  in  so  far  as  the  moral  action  of  man's 
heart,  or  its  influence  upon  his  passions,  became 
necessary  to  his  purpose  of  blending,  truly  and  con- 
sistently with  nature,  his  philosophic  ideas  with 
dramatic  poetry,  did  he  refer  to  that  conservative 
fountain  of  life. 

Among  the  great  variety  of  references  to  the 
hloocl — named  within  more  than  five  hundred  of 
Shakespeare's  sentences — I  have  selected  the  follow- 
ing, as  indicating  to  me  most  clearly  his  under- 
standing of  the  tact  that  the  blood  circulated.  His 
choice,  too,  of  the  word  "  gate  "  ("  gates  and  alleys 
of  the  body  ")  would  seem  to  involve  his  idea  of  the 


272  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

valves  and  their  use  in  stopping  the  blood;  else, 
why  use  such  word? — a  gate  being  a  mechanical 
contrivance  for  opening  or  closing  to  any  thing 
inclined  to  pass,  according  to  occasion. 

"  The  leperous  distilment,  whose  effect 
Holds  such  an  enmity  with  blood  of  man 
That,  swift  as  quicksilver,  it  courses  through 
The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  hody.^' 

[Hamlet,  Act  1. 

"  This  does  make  some  obstruction  in  the  blood — this  cross- 
gartering." — Twelfth  Night,  Act  3,  Scene  4. 

"  As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 

That  visit  my  sad  heart." — Julius  Ccesar,  Act  2. 

"  Lord  Angelo  scarce  confesses 
That  his  blood  floivs — a  man  whose  blood 
Is  very  snow-broth ;  one  who  never  feels 
The  wanton  stings  and  motions  of  the  sense." 

[Afeasure  for  Measure,  Act  1. 

"  The  resolute  acting  of  your  bloods 
"  Why  docs  my  blood  thus  miunter  to  my  heart?" 

[Ibid,  Act  2. 

"  Ruv^  not  this  speech  like  iron  through  your  blood  ?" 

[Mti/ih  Ado  About  Nothing,  Act  5. 

"All  the  conduits  of  m3r  blood  froze  up." 

[Comedy  of  Errors,  (1592.) 

" make  thick  my  blood, 

Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse." — Macbeth. 

"  The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood 
Is  stopp'd — the  very  source  of  it  is  stopp'd." — Ibid, 


SHAKESPEREAlSr   SUBJECTS.  273 


if  that  surly  spirit,  melancholy, 


Had  baked  my  hhocl  and  made  it  heavy,  thick, 
(Which  else  runs  tickling  up  and  down  the  veins') 

[King  John^  Act  2. 

"  The  tide  of  blood  in  me 
Hath  proudly  flowed  in  vanity,  till  now — 
Now  doth  it  turn  and  ebb  back  to  the  sea." 

\2d  Part  Henrij  IV.,  Act  5. 

"  Where  1  have  garner'd  up  my  heart; 
The  fountain  from  the  which  my  current  runs, 
Or  else  dries  up." — Othello,  Act  4. 

"  A  good  sherris-sack  hath  a  two-fold  operation  in  it,"  &c. 
'•'  The  second  property  of  your  excellent  sherry  is — the  warm- 
ing of  the  blood,  which  before  cold  and  settled,  left  the  liver 
white  and  pale,"  &c. ;  "  but  the  sherris  warms  it,  and  makes  it 
course  from  the  inwards  to  the  parts  extreme,"  &c.,  &c. :  "  and 
then  the  vital  commoners  and  inland  petty  spirits  muster  me  all 
to  their  captain,  the  heart,"  &c. — 2cZ  Part  Henry  IV.,  Act  4, 
Scene  4, 

Further  quotations  seem  to  me  needless  to  con- 
vince him  who  reflects  that  Shakespeare  must  at 
least  have  theoreticall}^  conceived,  if  lie  had  not  heen 
informed  or  learned,  that  the  blood  circulated ;  but 
let  him  who  doubts  inspect  his  entire  works,  wherein 
may  be  found  in  various  connections,  the  word  heart, 
mentioned  more  than  a  thousand  times  ;  and  in  many 
passages  combining  concordant  confirmation  of  such 
a  conclusion,  Whether  the  word  circulation  (which 
is  compounded  of  the  Latin  preposition  circum  and 
[Fero,   Ferre,   Tuli]    latnm,   and    signifies    carried 

12* 


274  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

around^  was  not  in  Shakespeare's  time  yet  adopted  in 
the  vernacular,  or  not  considered  suitable  for  his 
rhythm  or  to  express  his  prose  sentiments,  I  am  not 
philologist  enough  to  decide  ;  but  as  I  can  find  neither 
of  the  words  circulate^  circulated^  or  circulation  any- 
where in  his  language,  I  infer  that  they  had  not  then 
been  included  in  his  already  copious  vocabulary  ;  else 
he  would  probably  have  chosen,  if  deemed  more  ex- 
pressive, circulation  (for  "  the  course^^^  and  circulates 
(instead  of  "  courses''^)  in  some  one  or  other  of  the 
numerous  references  to  the  movements  of  the  blood. 
His  text,  however,  seems  to  me  quite  sufficient  for 
conveying  the  idea  of  the  circulation, 

James  H.  Hackett. 

P.S. — An  intelligent  friend  in  l^ew  York,  to 
whom  I  applied  for  chronological  records  of  Harvey 
(not  among  my  limited  biblical  collection  here)  has 
furnished  some  which  tend  to  confirm  my  opinion 
that  William  Harvey  could  not  have  imparted  to 
Shakespeare  what  the  latter  knew  concerning  the 
action  or  movements  of  the  venous  and  arterial 
blood,  and  referred  to  in  his  plays. 

"  William  Harvey  did  not  return  from  Italy 
(where  he  studied)  to  England  until  1602."  (He 
was  then  aged  twenty -four,  and  Shakespeare  had 
already  written  twenty  of  his  thirty-four  dramas.) 
Kor  "  was  he  appointed  Professor  in  the  Royal  Col- 
lege of  Physicians  until  1615,''  (several  years  after 
the  retirement  of  Shakespeare,  and  only  one  prior 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  275 

to  the  poet's  death.)  Also,  "  about  or  between  the 
years  1616  and  1619  Harvey  first  publicly  announced 
his  discovery,  which  met  with  universal  ridicule — 
nor  did  he  print  his  work  until  1628,"  (twelve  years 
after  Shakespeare's  death.)  It  was  entitled  "  Exer- 
citatio  Anatoviia  cle  tnotu  cordis  et  sanguinis  circu- 
lationey 

Hence,  as  Harvey  could  not  have  taught  him, 
may  not  Shakespeare  have  received  his  impressions 
intuitively,  perhaps  when  reading  Hunter's  theory 
respecting  the  blood,  which,  I  think,  without  refer- 
ence to  chronology,  had  appeared  prior  to  Shake- 
speare's commencement  as  a  dramatist  ?  My  intel- 
ligent New  York  friend  writes  :  "  From  the  few 
passages  in  Shakespeare's  plays  which  I  can  now 
recall,  and  which  bear  upon  this  subject  [the  circu- 
lation of  the  blood,]  I  incline  to  think  that  if  they 
had  been  written  by  Shakespeare  as  prose  observa- 
tions, and  not  as  poetic  illustrations,  we  should 
resolve  that  he  had,  without  anatomical  knowledge, 
reached  a  conclusion  which  Harvey  afterwards  so 
carefully  and  triumphantly  demonstrated." 

The  fact  that  Hume  and  Hallam,  the  historians, 
as  well  as  all  modern  medical  writers,  with  very 
few  exceptions,  yield  Harvey  the  credit  of  the  dis- 
cove'i'y  claimed  for  him,  weighs  little  in  the  scale  of 
my  opinions.  Historiographers  referring  to  events 
which  have  transpired  long  before  their  own  time, 
are  not  apt  to  question  or  to  hesitate  to  record  the 
then  undisputed  iiuthorities  of  a  former  age,  and 


276  SHAKESrEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

more  especially  upon  subjects  not  within  their  own 
province  to  investigate  and  compare ;  and  with 
regard  to  modern  medical  writers,  they  would 
hardly  consider  their  time  profitably  occupied  in 
sifting  and  analyzing  the  poetry  of  a  dramatist  of 
the  Elizabethan  age,  to  find  what  elements  of  the 
healing  art  may  have  been  amalgamated  even  by 
the  genius  of  a  Shakespeare. 

J.  H.  H. 


A  Reply  to  Mr.  Hackett. 

October  30,  1861. 

To  the  Editors  of  The  Evening  Post : 

I  was  somewhat  surprised  by  reading  in  your 
issue  of  the  19th  instant  a  paper  w^ritten  by  Mr. 
Hackett,  endeavoring  to  render  to  Shakespeare  the 
honor  which  for  two  centuries  has  been  conceded  to 
the  immortal  Harvey,  viz.  the  discovery  of  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood.  Had  Mr.  Hackett  been  as 
well  acquainted  with  the  literature  of  the  profession 
to  wdiicli  Harvey  belonged  as  with  the  numbers  of 
the  bard,  he  would  have  probably  hesitated  ere  he 
endeavored  to  pluck  from  the  great  physician's  brow 
a  single  leaf  of  his  undying  crown. 

It  is  very  natural  in  one  treating  a  subject  which 
is  "not  within  his  own  province  to  investigate  and 
compare,"  whose  inquiries  must  be  necessarily  crude 
and  superficial,  and  who  probably  has  never  read 
Harvey's  elaborate  treatise,  entitled  "Z^<?  Motu  San- 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  277 

gui?us,^^  and  devoted  as  little  attention  to  similar 
works  written  before  and  since  that  author's  time — 
it  is  very  natural  that  such  an  investigator  should  be 
led  into  errors  which  even  those  more  conversant 
with  the  subject  might  scarcely  have  avoided.  "A 
little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing,"  appears  to 
be  well  exemplified  in  the  article  to  which  I  am 
replying.  With  all  due  deference  to  Mr.  Hackett's 
superior  attainments  in  other  respects,  and  particu- 
larly in  regard  to  Shakesperean  lore,  in  whose  inter- 
pretation he  is  certainly  entitled  to  the  highest 
consideration,  allow  me  to  suggest  that  his  argu- 
ments in  favor  of  Shakespeare  as  a  medical  disco- 
verer are  far  from  being  proved  by  the  passages 
which  he  quotes,  or,  in  fact,  by  any  others  of  a 
similar  significance  occurring  in  that  poet's  produc- 
tions. 

Shakespeare  undoubtedly  did  possess,  more  than 
any  other  man  who  has  bequeathed  to  us  his  own 
record  of  intellectual  capacity,  a  most  intimate 
acquaintance  with  all  the  motives  of  human  action. 
As  a  student  of  human  nature,  his  province  was  the 
anatomy  of  the  mind  and  the  soul — and  with  a  most 
careful  and  delicate  hand  did  he  dissect  apart  the 
elementary  tissues  of  those  complex  existences.  As 
regards,  however,  his  study  and  knowledge  of  the 
more  material  constituents  of  the  human  organism, 
we  may  be  pardoned  in  entertaining  great  doubt, 
his  works  affording  us  but  little  enlightenment  on 
the  subject.     In  fact,  where  he  displays  a  strange 


278  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

familiarity  with  many  of  the  other  sciences,  it  seems 
curious  that  there  should  be  wanting,  almost  com- 
pletely, any,  except  mere  figurative  commonplace 
allusions,  to  that  of  anatomy  and  physiology.  It  is 
related  in  his  biography  that  he  served  for  a  short 
period  of  his  youth  in  the  office  of  a  country  attor- 
ney, and,  as  a  consequence,  we  find  introduced  into 
his  writings  many  technical  phrases  then  employed 
only  by  those  of  the  legal  profession,  many  of  whom 
figure  quite  conspicuously  in  his  plays. 

With  the  medical  profession,  however,  he  meddles 
but  little ;  a  doctor  is  occasionally  introduced,  but 
is  either  as  vulgar  and  devoid  of  dignity  as  Dr. 
Caius,  or  so  obscure,  even  when  occupying  the  posi- 
tion of  physician  to  the  king,  as  to  attract  no  special 
attention.  Might  we  not  suppose  that  had  the  poet 
been  at  all  conversant  with  medical  science  he  would 
have  employed  his  knowledge  to  greater  advantage  ? 
And  certainly,  had  even  superficial  inquiries  into 
the  art  led  him  to  so  important  a  discovery  as  the 
circulation  (allowing  it  to  have  been  unknown 
before),  was  he  a  person  to  have  concealed  his 
familiarity  with  such  a  fact,  or  merely  to  have 
thrown  out  obscure  hints  here  and  there  ? 

But,  letting  rest  the  arguments  for  or  against 
Shakespeare's  acquaintance  with  anatomy  or  phy- 
siology, it  is  certain  that  we  need  impute  to  him  no 
extraordinary  knowledge  in  that  respect,  whereby 
to  explain  the  meaning  of  the  passages  quoted  by 
Mr.  Hackett.     They  only  prove  that  he  was  cogni- 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  279 

zant  of  a  few  simple  facts  wliich  had  been  recog- 
nised and  commented  upon  ages  before,  and  an 
ignorance  of  whicli  would  have  been  impossible  in 
a  person  of  so  comprehensive  a  mind.  Thej  sug- 
gest— 1st :  That  the  blood  exists  in  conduits  or  ves- 
sels of  some  sort.  2d  :  That  it  moves  through  these 
vessels  from  one  part  of  the  body  to  another,  though 
without  undertaking  to  explain  how  or  why.  3d : 
That  it  starts  at  the  heart ;  and  4:th  (though  the 
application  seems  to  me  very  far  fetched)  :  That 
there  are  valves  through  wliich  it  passes,  and  whicli 
prevent  its  reflux. 

l^ow  all  of  these  suggestions  undoubtedly  origi- 
nated in  a  few  facts  whicli  had  been  first  promul- 
gated many  centuries  before  by  the  great  Galen, 
who  was  the  first  to  form  any  correct  idea  of  the 
circulating  system.  His  writings  faithfully  describe 
the  blood  as  pursuing  its  course  from  the  heart  into 
the  arteries,  and  as  being  prevented  from  returning 
by  a  system  of  valves,  to  which  he  contents  himself 
with  a  mere  allusion.  Although  his  ideas  upon  the 
subject  were  indefinite,  still  his  observations  contain 
enough  of  plausibility  to  have  produced  a  deep 
impression  upon  a  reflective  and  philosophic  mind, 
such  as  Harvey's,  and  to  have  led  him  to  those 
investigations  which  were  so  prolific  in  great  results. 
Indeed,  Harvey  even  acknowledges  these  hints  in 
referring  to  the  statements  of  Galen,  which  he 
quotes  as  those  of  ^'vii'i  divini  patris  medicorum.''^ 
From  the  period  of  Galen  down  to  that  of  Harvey, 


280  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

the  subject  remained  to  a  certain  degree  dormant ; 
tliougli  it  is  said,  I  know  not  how  truly,  that  the 
Italian  physiologists  had  demonstrated,  many  years 
previous  to  Harvey's  time,  what  is  termed  "  the 
lesser  circulation,"  i.  e.  from  the  heart  through  the 
lungs,  and  back  again  to  the  heart.  Such  theories 
and  facts,  therefore,  as  had  previously  been  enun- 
ciated, we  may  admit  that  Shakesj^eare  knew  and 
hinted  at,  without  any  necessity  of  our  considering 
him  tlie  discoverer  of  the  circulation. 

But  now  it  may  be  asked  :  How  can  Harvey, 
then,  ho  so  regai'ded  exclusively,  if  such  and  such 
things  had  been  known  ages  before  his  birth  ?  The 
answer  is,  that  if  we  comprehend  by  the  word  "  cir- 
culation" merely  the  movement  of  the  blood  through 
the  heart  and  vessels,  he  is  not  entitled  to  the  honor 
wdiich  posterity  has  bestowed  upon  him.  But  let 
us  remember  that  he  took  up  the  subject  in  the  pri- 
mitive condition  in  which  Galen  had  left  it  (whose 
suggestions,  though  given  to  the  world  so  many 
centuries  before,  had  yet  been,  curiously  enough, 
the  foundation  of  few  inquiries) ;  that  he  pursued  it 
for  years,  by  means  of  the  most  laborious  dissections 
and  experiments;  that  he  unravelled  the  com- 
plex construction  of  the  great  propelling  organ,  the 
heart ;  that  he  traced  the  arteries  from  their  very 
root  in  the  great  aorta  onward  through  their  gradu- 
ally decreasing  ramifications,  until  he  arrived  at 
their  most  minute  divisions  ;  tliat  he  thence  watched 
the  course  of  the  blood  through  various  and  com- 


SHAKESPEREAX  SUBJECTS.  281 

plicated  tissues,  throngli  an  intricate  network  of 
capillaries,  until,  re-collected  into  the  veins,  it  re- 
turned to  its  original  starting-place.  And  not  only 
this,  but  he  analyzed  the  mysterious  causes  of  this 
circuit,  the  powers  which  start  the  fluid  upon  its 
round,  and  serve  to  propel  it  and  assist  it  in  its  con- 
tinual course.  And  what  was  the  consequence  of 
his  herculean  labors  ?  A  result,  constructed  step 
by  step  upon  determined  facts  and  logical  conclu- 
sions, grand  and  comprehensive,  the  very  foundation 
of  modern  medical  science,  and  remaining  almost  a 
type  of  perfection  even  at  the  present  period,  when 
such  tremendous  strides  are  being  taken  in  all  scien- 
tific research. 

Harvey,  therefore,  seems  to  me  to  bear  the  same 
relation  to  Galen  that  Morse  did  to  Franklin.  At 
all  events,  he  was  the  first  to  demonstrate  the  entire 
circxdation  y  and,  therefore,  is  he  not  entitled  to  be 
considered  its  discoverer  ?  C.  P.  R. 

Orchard  Place,  Yonkers,  Nov.  29,  1861. 
To  the  Editors  of  the  Evening  Post : 

Having  just  returned  after  some  six  weeks'  busi- 
ness upon  my  landed  estate  in  Illinois,  I  have  been 
shown  in  vour  issue  of  October  30  an  article 
capped  "  Harvey  and  Shakes23eare — A  Reply  to 
Mr.  Hackett ;"  wherein  the  author,  signing  C.  P. 
R.,  in  reference  to  my  own  article  "  ITo.  1 "  upon 
that  subject,  published  in  your  issue  of  October  19, 
charges  me  with  "  endeavoring  to  render  to  Shake- 


282  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

speare  tlie  honor  which  for  two  centuries  has  been 
conceded  to  the  immortal  Harvey,  viz.  the  discovery 
of  the  circulation  of  the  hloody 

C.  P.  E.  is  wrong  in  his  premises.  I  did  not 
claim  for  Shakespeare  the  discovery^  but  only  that 
by  analogy  he  understood  the  theory,  and  could  not 
have  been  ignorant  of  the  fact  before  Harvey  began 
to  write.  The  words  in  my  article  were  :  "  I  must 
contend  for  the  internal  evidence  furnislied  in 
Shakespeare's  writings  of  his  having,  prior  to  Har- 
vey's imputed  discovery  and  laborious  investiga- 
tions, a  clear  conception  of  the  propulsory  action  of 
the  heart  in  forcing  its 

'  courses  through 


The  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body.'  " 

My  article  referred  to — jN'o.  1 — was  written  in 
1859,  and  was  intended  rather  as  prefatory  to  my 
observations — "  No.  2" — made  a  year  after  upon  a 
book  published  in  London,  in  1860,  entitled  "Shake- 
speare's Medical  Knowledge,  by  John  Charles 
Bucknill,  M.D. ;"  but  only  so  far  as  its  contents 
related  to  Shakesjyeare' s  knowledge  of  the  circulation 
of  the  hlood.  Whenever  it  may  suit  the  convenience 
of  your  press  to  publish  said  "  JS^o.  2,"  and  that  of 
your  correspondent  to  peruse  it,  I  would  jyrefer  to 
be  spared  further  animadversion,  and  to  learn  his 
objections  to  the  orthodoxy  of  my  arguments,  and 
to  refer  him  to  the  profound  and  elaborate  medical 
researches  in  that  work  of  the  erudite  Dr.  Bucknill, 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  283 

who,  alluding  to  the  late  Lord  Chancellor  Camp- 
bell's interesting  work  on  Shakespeare's  legal  attain- 
ments, observes  that  it  "  convinced  him  that  the 
knowledge  of  the  great  dramatist  was,  in  each  de- 
partment, so  extensive  and  exact  that  it  required 
the  skilled  observation  of  a  professional  mind  fully 
and  fairly  to  appreciate  and  set  it  forth." 

Doctor  Bucknill,  in  his  preface,  continues : 
"  Although  the  author  desires  explicitly  to  disavow 
the  intention  to  put  forward  in  behalf  of  his  own 
profession  any  rival  claims  for  the  honor  of  having 
occupied  the  unaccounted-for  jperiod  of  Shake- 
sj)eare's  early  manhood,  he  must  confess  that  it 
would  be  gratifying  to  professional  self-esteem  if  he 
were  able  to  show  that  the  immortal  dramatist,  who 
bears,  as  Hallam  says,  '  the  greatest  name  in  all 
literature,'  paid  an  amount  of  attention  to  subjects 
of  medical  interest  scarcely  if  at  all  inferior  to  that 
which  has  served  as  the  basis  of  the  learned  and 
ingenious  argument,  that  this  intellectual  king  of 
men  had  devoted  seven  good  years  of  his  life  to  the 
practice  of  laxo.  For  the  honor  of  tnedicine  it  would 
be  difficult  to  point  to  any  great  author,  not  himself 
a  physician,  in  whose  works  the  healing  art  is  re- 
ferred to  more  frequently  and  more  respectfully 
than  in  those  of  Shakespeare.  The  motive,  how- 
ever, for  writing,  and  the  excuse  for  publishing  the 
following  pages,  is  not  to  exalt  the  medical  profes- 
sion, by  citing  in  its  glorification  the  favorable 
opinion  and  special  knowledge  of  the  great  bard, 


284  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

but  to  contribute  to  the  elucidation  of  bis  universal 
genius,  and  to  prove  tliat,  among  otbers,  '  tbe  myriad 
mind '  bad  paid  close  attention  to  tbis  most  impor- 
tant and  personally  interesting  subject  of  study." 

I  would  reiterate  my  conviction  tbat  William 
Harvey,  tbougb  be  investigated  and  practically 
demonstrated,  was  not  tbe  original  "  discoverer  of 

tbe  circulation  of  tbe  blood." 

James  H.  IIackett. 

Mr.  Hackett's  'No.  2  we  sball  publisb  as  soon  as 
we  can  find  room  for  it. — [Eds.  Evening  Post. 


J/r.  Hachett's  Second  Letter. 

[Tbe  following  is  Mr.  Hackett's  second  letter  on 
Sbakespeare  and  Harvey. — Eds.] 

December  12,  1861. 

To  the  Editors  of  the  Evening  Post : 

As  I  expected  tbat  Dr.  Jobn  Cbarles  Bucknill's 
work,  entitled  "  Medical  Knowledge  of  8hakes])eare^'^ 
publisbed  in  London,  would  necessarily  involve,  in 
a  general  disquisition  of  its  subject,  certain  points 
deducible  from  some  of  tbe  passages  wbicb  I  bad 
quoted  in  order  to  prove  tbat  Sbakespeare  could  not 
bave  been  ignorant  of  tbe  fact  of  tbe  circulation  of 
tbe  blood,  tbe  discovery  of  wbicb,  after  Sbake- 
speare's  deatb,  bad  been  claimed  for  Harvey,  I 
eagerly  sougbt  and  obtained  a  copy  of  Dr.  Bucknill's 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  285 

book,  and  was  much  entertained  and  often  instructed 
tlirougli  the  scope  of  its  contents.  However,  as  I, 
from  ignorance  of  the  science  of  surgery  or  ana- 
tomy, and  its  origin  and  progressive  advancement, 
am  not  qualified  for  its  general  review,  I  will  con- 
fine mj  extracts  and  comments  to  such  portions  as 
may  seem  to  bear  upon  the  specialty  of  Harvey's 
originality  in  discovering  the  circulation  of  the 
blood. 

Page  10. — "  The  world  saw  nothing  of  the  circulation  of  the 
blood  in  Servetus,  Columbus,  Caesalpinus,  or  Shakespeare, 
until  after  William  Harvey  had  taught  and  written." 

Hallam's  Literary  History  of  Europe^  though  not 
questioning  Harvey's  discovery  of  the  dual  circula- 
tion, and  conceding  that  the  lesser  circulation  w^as 
known  to  the  ancients,  observes  :  "  It  may,  indeed, 
be  thought  wonderful  that  Servetus,  Columbus,  and 
Csesalpinus  should  not  have  more  distinctly  appre- 
hended the  consequences  of  what  they  maintained, 
since  it  seems  difiicult  to  conceive  the  lesser  circu- 
lation without  the  greater  ;  but  the  defectiveness  of 
their  views  is  not  to  be  alleged  as  a  counterbalance 
to  the  more  steady  sagacity  of  Harvey ; "  and  as 
Dr.  Bucknill  has  chosen  to  add  Shakespeare  to  Hal- 
lam's catalogue,  I  will  proceed  with  quotations  from 
the  poet,  and  leave  my  readers  to  judge  whether  he 
did  not  comprehend  this  duality  and  inter-depen- 
dence of  the  circulation  ;  but,  previously,  let  me 
anticipate,   for  my  readers'   advantage,   what  Dj-. 


286  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

Euckulll  lias  reserved  in  his  arrangement  ot  matter 
until  page  201. 

"  The  flow  of  blood  to  the  heart  was  a  fact  well  known  and 
recognised  in  Shakespeare's  time.  It  was  the  flow  of  blood 
from  the  heart,  that  is,  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  wliich  was 
not  known  to  Shakespeare,  or  to  any  other  person,  before 
Harvey's  immortal  discovery." 

"  I  send  it  through  the  rivers  of  your  blood. 
Even  to  the  court,  the  heart — to  the  seat  o'  the  brain ; 
And  through  the  cranks  and  ofl&ces  of  man." 

—  CoriolanuSj  Act  1,  Sc.  1. 

Dr.  Bucknill,  after  first  referring  to  the  body's 
nutriment  being  sent  "  through  rivers  of  blood  to 
the  court,  the  heart," — "  a  fact  well  known  in 
Shakespeare's  time," — continues  :  "  The  flow  of  the 
blood  '  through  the  cranks  and  ofiices  of  man '  is  a 
singular  expression.  '  Ofiices '  appear  to  mean  func- 
tions, put  for  their  organs,  and  '  cranks '  mean  bend- 
ings  or  turnings,  and,  no  doubt,  refer  to  the  elbows 
or  turns  in  the  blood-vessels."  I  regard  the  prepo- 
sition "  through  "  as  very  significant,  but,  firstly,  I 
would  suggest  whether  Shakespeare's  choice  of  the 
word  "  visit "  (by  Bridus  in  his  Julius  C(Bsar\  and 
which  signifies  "  to  go  and  come,"  does  not  imply  in 
that  connection  the  flux  and  reflux  of  the  blood  ? 

"  As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart." — Act  2. 

— and  also,  how  the  propulsory  action  of  the  heart 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  287 

can  be  denied,  after  reading  and  digesting  the  fol- 
lowing direct  expression  of  it,  independent  of  many 
lateral  ones : 

"  My  heart, 


Where  eitner  I  must  live  or  bear  no  life ; 
The  fountain  from  the  ivhich  my  current  7'uns, 
Or  else  dries  up,"  &c. —  Othello,  Act  4,  Sc.  2. 

Page  12.  " — instances  appear,  and  amount  not  merely  to 
evidence,  but  to  proof,  that  Shakespeare  had  read  widely  in 
medical  hterature." 

Pages  35,  36.  "  Shakespeare's  eldest  daughter,  Susanna, 
married  Dr.  John  Hall,  a  physician  of  great  provincial  emi- 
nence, practising  at  Stratford  upon  Avon.  The  registration 
of  his  marriage  stands  thus : 

"  '  1607,  June  5.  John  Hall,  gentleman,  and  Susanna  Shake- 
speare.' It  will  be  an  interesting  subject  of  inquiry  whether 
such  of  the  dramas  as  were  written  after  their  author  entered 
into  terms  of  intimate  relationship  with  a  physician  well  edu- 
cated in  the  professional  knowledge  of  his  time,  bear  any 
impression  of  the  mental  conduct ;  since  it  is  scarcely  possible 
but  that  some  influence  should  have  been  exercised  upon  the 
impressible  mind  of  the  poet  by  the  husband  of  his  favorite 
daughter — hving  with  him  in  the  same  house." 

It  seems  reasonable,  certainly,  between  "  the 
instances  in  proof  that  Shakespeare  had  read  widely 
in  medical  literature,"  and  the  circumstances  of  an 
eminent  physician,  his  son-in-law,  residing,  after 
1607,  in  the  same  house,  and  with  whom  he  may 
have  been  intimate  long  previous  to  the  marriage, 
that  Shakespeare  should  have  made  himself  ac- 
quainted clearly  with  every  important  fact  or  theory 


288  SHAKESPEREAK   SUBJECTS. 

relating  to  such  a  subject,  wliicli  had  transpired ; 
and,  indeed,  out  of  his  owu  intuitive  and  compre- 
hensive genius  might  have  originated  others,  or  new 
ones,  which 'neither  his  leisure  nor  his  avocations 
allowed  him  to  explore,  prove,  or  demonstrate,  even 
for  his  own  satisfaction. 

Page  74 
"  '  Why  does  my  blood  thus  muster  to  my  heart, 
Making  both  it  unable  for  itself, 
And  dispossessing  all  my  other  parts 
Of  necessary  fitness?' 

Measure  for  Measure,  Ad  2,  Sc.  4. 

"  This  mustering  of  the  blood  to  the  heart  is  referred  to  by 
Warwick,  in  describing  the  death  of  John  of  Gaunt;  it  is 
perfectly  in  accordance  with  modern  physiological  science,  and 
when  it  is  remembered  that  in  Shakespeare's  time  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood,  and  even  the  relation  of  the  heart  to 
the  blood,  was  yet  undiscovered,  the  passage  is  in  every  way 
remarkable." 

If  Dr.  BucknilFs  premises  are  true,  the  passage  is 
indeed  not  only  "in  every  way  remarkable,"  but 
unaccountable,  not  to  say  miraculous. 

Page  82.  "  Shakespeare  may,  with  the  intuition  of  genius, 
have  guessed  very  near  the  truth  respecting  the  circulation  of 
the  blood,  &c.,  &c.  See  also  Falstaff's  reflections  on  Prince 
John,  part  2 ;  King  Henry  IV.,  act  iv.,  scene  3." 

Page  123.  "  The  absence  of  blood  in  the  liver  was  the  sup- 
posed property  of  a  coward.  '  The  liver  white  and  pale '  is 
Falstaff's  pathological  badge  of  pusillanimity  and  cowardice. 
Fear  is  called  '  pale-hearted '  in  Macbeth.     Also,  Lucio,  in  Mea- 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  289 

sure  for  Measure  (act  4,  scene  3),  says :  '  I  am  pale  at  mine 
heart,'  &c. :  and  was  not  that  too  (the  absence  of  blood  there) 
the  supposed  property  of  a  coward,  according  to  the  old  theory 
of  the  circulation  of  the  blood  which  (Dr.  Bucknill  writes)  gave 
rise  to  this  opinion  ?" 

Page  133.  "  The  expression  in  King  John,  act  3,  scene  3, 
that  '  the  blood  runs  trickling*  up  and  down  the  veins/  seems  to 
point  to  the  thought  that  there  is  a  flux  and  reflux  of  the  current." 

Pages  157-158.  "Shakespeare  follows  Hippocrates,  &c.,  &;c., 
and  has  reference  to  another  theory  of  Hippocrates,  namely, 
that  the  veins,  which  were  thought  the  only  blood-vessels,  had 
their  origin  in  the  hver.  The  Father  of  Medicine  maintained 
that  they  come  from  the  liver,  the  arteries  from  the  heart.  It 
appears,  however,  that  in  different  parts  of  his  works  he 
expressed  different  opinions  on  the  relation  existing  between 
the  veins  and  the  heart,"   &c. 

Dr.  Backnill  follows  up  by  extracting  a  lengtliy 
passage  from  the  Sydenham  Society's  edition  of  The 
Works  of  Harvey^  and  also  quotes  "  Rabelais,  who 
was  both  a  practising  physician  and  a  medical 
author,"  and  his  translation  of  the  works  of  both 
Hippocrates  and  Galen  ;  and  adds,  "  Rabelais  ex- 
presses the  doctrine  of  the  function  of  the  liver  which 
is  implied  in  Falstaff's  disquisition,"  namely,  "that 
the  liver  conveys  blood  through  the  veins  for  the 
good  of  the  whole  body."  Indeed,  Dr.  Bucknill 
continues  through  several  pages  afterward  to  refer  to 
"  the  old  opinions,"  and  compares,  in  an  apparently 

*  Trickling  is  Shakespeare's  word,  alluding  to  an  occasioual  sense 
of  the  motion  of  the  blood  in  the  veins.  "  To  trickle  "  signifies  to  "  drop 
gently."  Shakespeare  has  only  used  trickling  once,  and  then  as  a 
synonyme  of  tricky,  "trickling  tears  are  vain." — Henry  IV.,  Fart  1. 

13 


290  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

learned  manner,  tlie  theories  wliicli  existed  among 
the  medical  professors  prior  to  Harvey,  respecting 
the  functions  of  the  liver  and  of  the  heart. 

"  and  let  my  live?'  rather  heat  with  wine 


Than  my  heai^t  cool  with  mortifying  groans." 

\Aferchant  of  Venice. 

Shakespeare,  who  was  neither  a  medical  author 
nor  a  practising  physician,  was  not  bound  to  ascer- 
tain, and  may  have  confounded  the  respective  func- 
tions of  the  heart  and  the  liver,  and  the  causes ;  but 
at  the  same  time  have  distinctly  understood  the  fact 
of  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  whicli  is  simply  that 
for  which  I  have  thus  far  contended  and  been  trying 
to  convince  my  readers. 

Page  213 : 

"  You  are  my  true  and  honorable  wife, 
As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart." — Julius  Ccesar. 

"  '  On  these  three  lines,'  (writes  Dr.  Bucknill)  '  a  short  essay, 
the  only  one  bearing  upon  Shakespeare's  physiological  opinions 
I  have  anywhere  been  able  to  find,  has  been  written  by  Mr. 
Thomas  Nimmo,  and  has  been  published  in  a  second  volume  of 
the  Shakespeare  Society  Papers.  Mr.  Nimmo  considers  that 
this  passage  (quoted) — '  containing  what  I  cannot  view  other- 
wise than  a  distinct  reference  to  the  circulation  of  the  hlood, 
which  was  not  announced  to  the  world,  as  is  generally  sup- 
posed, until  some  years  after  the  death  of  Shakespeare.' " 

Dr.  Bucknill  remarks :  "  Assuming  the  truth  of  this,  Mr, 
Nimmo  argues  either  that  the  play  was  not  written  so  early  as 
1603 — the  date  fixed  by  Mr.  Collier — or  that  '  Shakespeare  had 
been  made  acquainted  by  Harvey  himself  with  his  first  notions 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  291 

on  the  subject.'  Mr.  JSTimmo  afterwards  speculates  thus  :  '  Is 
it,  then,  impossible  that  Harvey,  a  young  medical  practitioner, 
may  have  become  acquainted  with  Shakespeare — may  have 
become  intimate  with  him,  and  may  have  acquainted  liim  with 
those  great  ideas  by  which  also  he  hoped  to  become  famous?'  " 
Dr.  Bucknill  resumes :  "  In  some  comments  on  the  article 
Mr.  T.  J.  Pettigrew  satisfactorily  disposes  of  Mr.  Nimmo's  sug- 
gestion, observing:  'There  is  no  evidence  that  Shakespeare 
knew  Harvey ;  and  as  Shakespeare  died  in  1G16,  when  the  first 
ideas  of  Harvey  upon  the  subject  were  promulgated  at  the  col- 
lege, he  could  not,  through  that  medium,  have  been  acquainted 
with  it ;  but  if  the  date  of  1603,  as  given  by  Mr.  Collier  as  the 
period  at  which  the  play  of  "  Juhus  Caesar  "  was  written,  be 
the  correct  one,  it  is  quite  clear  that  Shakespeare  could  not 
have  then  known  Harvey,  because  he  (Harvey)  must  at  that 
time  have  been  abroad  (in  Italy),  and,  whatever  may  have  been 
his  reflections  upon  the  discovery  of  the  existence  of  valves  in 
the  veins,  there  are  no  traces  in  any  of  his  writings  to  show 
that  he  had  then  entertained  any  particular  views  upon  the 
nature  of  the  circulation.'  " 

With  regard  to  my  own  sentiments  concerning 
tlie  probability  whether  Shakespeare  was  indebted 
to  Harvey  or  Harvey  to  Shakespeare  for  their  re- 
spective and  original  ideas  of  "  the  circulation,"  I 
must  ask  my  reader,  if  he  cares  to  consider  them,  to 
refer  to  their  expression,  in  the  course  of  my  post- 
script to  letter  dated  15th  September,  1859. 

Dr.  Bucknill  goes  on  : 

"  Shakespeare  might  indeed  have  known  Harvey,  as  he  no 
doubt  was  intimate  w^th  many  of  the  leading  minds  of  the 
age ;  but,  in  addition  to  the  fact  that  Harvey's  first  notice  of 
his  discovery  was  made  in  the  year  of  Shakespeare's  decease, 


292  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

Mr.  Nimmo's  suggestion  is  easily  refuted  from  the  other 
writings  of  the  poet,  with  which  it  seems  probable  that  Mr. 
Nimmo  had  not  made  himself  acquainted.  There  are  several 
passages  in  the  plays  in  which  the  presence  of  blood  in  the 
heart  is  quite  as  distinctly  referred  to  as  in  this  speech  of  Bru- 
tus ;  but  the  passages  quoted  in  these  pages  from  '  Love's 
Labor  Lost,'  and  from  the  '  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.,'  dis- 
tinctly prove  that  Shakespeare  entertained  the  Galenical  doc- 
trine universally  prevalent  before  Harvey's  discovery ;  that, 
although  the  right  side  of  the  heart  was  visited  by  the  blood, 
the  function  of  the  heart  and  its  proper  vessels,  the  arteries, 
was  the  distribution  of  the  vital  spirits,  or,  as  Byron  calls 
them,  '  the  nimble  spirits  in  the  arteries.'  Shakespeare  be- 
lieved, indeed,  in  the  flow  of  the  blood,  '  the  rivers  of  your 
blood'  which  went  eA'en  to  the  court,  the  heart ;'  but  he  con- 
sidered that  it  was  the  liver,  and  not  the  heart,  which  was  the 
cause  of  the  flow.  There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  in  Shake- 
speare, a  trace  of  any  knowledge  of  the  circulation  of  the 
blood.  Surely  the  temple  of  his  fame  needs  not  to  be  enriched 
by  the  spoils  of  any  other  reputation." 

Certainly  not,  good  Dr.  Bucknill ;  nor,  as  I  liope, 
does  the  temple  of  Harvey's  fame  wliich  the  medi- 
cal profession  have  constructed  need  any  su2)port  to 
be  obtained  by  denying  Shakesj^eare  his  obvious 
intelligence  j^rior  to  "  Harvey's  discovery."  May 
not  an  effect,  like  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  be 
obvious,  whilst  its  cause  may  be  hidden  and  ob- 
scured, or  confounded  by  one's  imputing  to  the  liver 
the  distinct  propulsory  action  of  the  heart  ? 

Finally,  recommending  my  readers  to  ascertain 
precisely  Dr.  Bucknill's  definition  of  the  word  cir- 
culation, and  to  remember  that  it  is  not  to  be  found 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  293 

ill  Sliakespeare,  and  to  satisfy  himself  whether  or 
not  the  word  "  course,"  as  used  by  Shakespeare 
when  referring  to  the  blood,  is  synonymous  with 
circulation,  I  take  my  leave  of  the  subject ;  and 
though  I  differ  with  him  in  many  of  his  interpreta- 
tions of  Sliakespeare's  text,  I  have  derived  much 
pleasure  from -his  book,  and  would  commend  it  to 
the  attentive  perusal  of  every  one  who  may  be 
gratified  by  perceiving  that  the  immortal  dramatist, 
who  bears,  as  Hallam  says,  "  the  greatest  name  in 
all  literature,"  paid  an  amount  of  attention  to  sub- 
jects of  medical  interest  scarcely  if  at  all  inferior 
to  that  which  has  served  as  the  basis  of  the  learned 
and  ingenious  argument,  that  the  intellectual  king 
of  men  had  devoted  seven  good  years  of  his  life  to 

the  practice  of  the  law. 

Jas.  H.  Hackett. 

P.  S. — After  a  deliberate  reconsideration  of  the 
mooted  question,  whether  William  Harvey  can  be 
justly  entitled  to  the  fame  and  honor  of  having 
been  "  the  immortal  discoverer  of  the  circulation 
of  the  blood,"  it  seems  to  me  that  the  point  of  the 
argument  after  all  resolves  itself  into  what  may  be 
the  direct,  or  lateral,  or  longitudinal  signification  of 
the  word  discover,  which  literally  means — to  find 
out,  to  expose  to  view,  to  make  known  that  which 
was  unknown  before.  Kestricted  to  this  sense, 
Columbus  w^as  unquestionably  the  first  discoverer 
of  this  Western  Continent.  Its  very  existence  was 
conceived    bv   his    genius,   and    ascertained    only 


29-i  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

tliroiigli  his  practical  faith,  energy,  and  enterprise, 
having  been  previously  unknown,  at  least  to  civil- 
ized Europe  ;  yet,  Americns  Yespucius,  by  reason 
of  his  secondary  efforts,  and  progressive  discern- 
ment in  the  premises,  was  enabled  to  build  and  to 
perpetuate  his  own  name,  and  to  eclipse,  if  not 
almost  supersede,  the  fame  of  Columbus,  its  original 
discoverer. 

Sir  Isaac  E^ewton,  born  in  1642,  is  generally  re- 
garded by  his  enthusiastic  eulogists  at  this  day  as 
the  discoverer  of  the  attraction  of  gravitation ; 
whereas,  absolutely,  he  only  investigated  and  ex- 
plained the  laws  which  regulate  the  solar  system. 
The  solar  system  of  the  ancients  was  that  of 
Ptolemy,  and  is  poetically  referred  to  by  Shake- 
speare in  his  play  of  "  Troilus  and  Cressida," 
(written  some  fifty  years  before  Sir  Isaac  was  born), 
thus : 
"  Ulysses.  The  heavens  themselves,  the  planets,  and  this  centre. 

Observe  degree,  priority  and  place, 

Insisture,  course,  proportion,  season,  form, 

Office  and  custom,  in  a  line  of  order. 

And  therefore  is  the  glorious  planet,  Sol, 

In  noble  eminence  enthron'd  and  spher'd 

Amidst  the  other." — Act  1,  Scene  3. 

But,  on  special  reference  to  the  attraction  of  gra- 
vitation— the  discovery  of  which  has  been  imputed 
to  Newton — can  any  reader  of  common  understand- 
ing doubt  Shakespeare's  knowledge  of  that  fact 
when  perusing  the  following  sentence  put  into  the 
mouth  of  his  heroine  ? — 


SHAKESPEREAN"   SUBJECTS.  295 

"  Cressida.     *     *     *     *     Time,  force  and  death, 
Do  to  this  body  what  extremes  you  can  ^ 
But  the  strong  base  and  building  of  my  love 
Is  as  the  very  centre  of  the  Earth 
Drawing  all  things  to  itT — Act  4,  Scene  2. 

J.  H.  H. 

lAGO. 

In  the  year  1828,  soon  after  I  had  adopted  the 
stage  as  a  profession,  I  studied  and  attempted  to  act 
Shakespeare's  lago,  but  although  I  was  received 
encouragingly  at  the  Park  Theatre,  ]^ew  York,  a 
few  times,  and  favorably  reported  by  the  Press,  I 
found  it  not  attractive ;  and  though  the  result  con- 
firmed me  in  the  correctness  of  the  conception  I  had 
formed  after  an  elaborate  study,  I  was  by  no  means 
satisfied  with  my  own  personation,  and  for  that  rea- 
son, and  also  because  the  Xew  York  public  had 
seemed  to  identify  my  stage-abilities  only  with  Yan- 
kee and  other  American  Originals,  and  some  dialect 
and  eccentric  characters,  and  with  imitations  of 
popular  actors,  and  also  inasmuch  as  I  had  then 
never  attempted  any  other  serious  performance  with 
the  exception  oUtichard  the  Thirds  and  that  in  direct 
and  avowed  imitation  oi  Edmund  Kean,  I  regarded' 
my  lago  but  as  an  experiment,  and  at  once  resolved 
that  it  was  inexpedient  for  me  in  my  novitiate  to  per- 
sist in  trying  to  represent  such  a  very  difficult  cha- 
racter, and  hence  abandoned  further  attempts 
accordingly. 


296  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

Mr.  John  Inman,  then  noted  for  his  literary  and 
critical  discernment  and  who  afterwards  became 
associate  editor  of  the  Commercial  Advertiser,  wit- 
nessed my  first  effort  to  personate  lago^  and  reported 
it  for  the  ]^ew  York  Evening  Post.  For  the  reason 
that  Mr.  Inman  gave  a  rather  minute  and  careful 
description  of  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  my  under- 
standing of  certain  points  which  I  had  not  yet 
acquired  art  enough  to  strike  out  effectively  in  my  act- 
ing^ I  will  reprint  his  report  herewith  as  a  record  of 
my  peculiar  notions  of  this  character. 

MR.  HACKETt's  IAGO. 

Park,  Thursday,  April  10,  1828. 

The  character  of  lago  has,  in  our  opinion,  been 
almost  universally  mistaken,  both  by  plaj^ers  and 
critics.  /Actors  in  general  have  been  struck  only 
with  the  wickedness  of  the  character,  and  have 
represented  him  as  a  monster,  a  fiend,  revelling  in 
malevolence  and  mischief — devoting  his  time,  his 
talents,  and  his  life  to  the  perpetration  of  gratuitous 
villanies,  and  actuated  by  no  other  motive  than  the 
lucre  love  of  wickedness/  This  is  an  unnatural  con- 
ception; and  Shakespeare,  who  was  quite  as  good  a 
pliilosopher  as  he  was  a  poet,  never  intended  to 
exhibit  such  a  picture.  The  same  error  has  been 
fallen  into  even  by  the  first  critics  in  England — 
Hazlitt  says,  "  The  general  groundwork  of  the  cha- 
racter of  lago^  as  it  appears  to  us,  is  not  absolute 
malignity  but  a  want  of  moral  principle,  or  an  indif- 


SnAKESPEREAJ^   SUBJECTS.  297 

ference  to  the  real  consequences  of  the  actions,  which 
tlie  perversity  of  his  disposition  and  love  of  immedi- 
ate excitement  lead  him  to  commit.  He  is  an  ama- 
teur of  tragedy  in  real  life.  The  character  is  a  com- 
plete abstraction  of  the  intellectual  from  the  moral 
being ;  or  in  other  words,  consists  in  an  absorption 
of  every  common  feeling  in  the  virulence  of  his 
understanding,  the  deliberate  wilfulness  of  his  pur- 
poses, and  in  his  restless^  untameable  love  of  'inis- 
chievous  co'iitrivances.^^  Kow  it  appears  to  us  that 
tlie  motives  of  lacjo's  conduct  are  so  plainly  described 
even  in  the  very  first  scene,  as  to  render  it  almost 
impossible  to  mistake  them.  They  are,  jealousy  anav 
disappointed  ambition.  When  Hoderigo  adverts  to 
the  hatred  which  lago  had  expressed  towards  the 
Moor,  what  is  his  reply  ? 

"  Despise  me  if  I  do  not — Three  great  ones  of  the  city 
In  personal  suit  to  make  me  his  heutenant, 
Oft  capped  to  him  ;  and  by  the  faith  of  man, 
I  know  my  price — I'm  worth  no  less  a  place  ; 
But  he,  as  loving  his  own  pride  and  purposes, 
Evades  them,  with  a  bombast  circumstance,  &c." 

And  immediately  after,  having  spoken  disparag- 
ingly of  the  abilities  of  Cassio,  he  goes  on —      , 

"  He,  sir,  had  the  election, 
And  I,  (of  whom  his  eye  had  seen  the  proof 
At  Rhodes,  at  Cyprus,  and  on  other  grounds, 
Christian  and  Heathen)  must  be  be-leed  and  calmed 
By  deljtor  and  by  creditor ;  this  counter-caster, 

13^ 


298  SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS. 

He,  in  good  time,  must  his  lieutenant  be, 

And  I,  (Heaven  bless  the  mark)  his  Moorship's  ancient—"* 

This  is  the  origin  of  lagcPs  hatred,  and  for  this 
insult,  he  determines  to  be  revenged.  In  the  third 
scene,  we  iind  that  there  is  another  barbed  arrow 
rankling  in  his  heart.     He  says — 

"  I  hate  the  Moor ; 
And  it  is  thought  abroad,  that  'twixt  my  sheets 
He  has  done  my  office." 

To  which,  referring  again,  in  the  first  scene  of  the 
second  act,  he  displays  an  intensity  of  feeling,  wdiicli 
we  consider  as  the  strongest  confirmation  of  our  idea 
of  his  character. 

"  For  that  I  do  suspect  the  lusty  Moor 
Hath  leaped  into  my  seat ;  the  thought  whereof 
Doth,  like  a  jpoisonous  mineral,  giiaw  my  inwards  / 
And  nothing  can,  or  shall  content  my  soul 
Till  I  am  even  with  him — " 

But  his  jealousy  is  not  confined  to  Othello — He 

"fears  Cassio  with  his  night-cap  too;" 

and  it  is  for  this,  that  he  selects  Mm,,  to  be  the 
instrument  wherewith  to  work  his  vengeance  upon 

*  Mr,  Hackett  has  (very  wisely)  restored  this  passage,  beginning 
"  But  he,  sir,  had  the  election,"  which  has  been  heretofore  most  inju- 
diciously omitted ;  it  has  such  a  direct  and  palpable  bearing  upon  the 
character,  that  we  cannot  but  wonder  why  it  should  ever  have  been 
left  out. 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  299 

Othello.  These  passages,  if  rightly  considered,  we 
cannot  help  looking  upon  as  affording  redeeming 
points  in  the  character  of  lago — as  tending  cona- 
pletelj  to  do  away  the  imputation  of  gratuitous  villa- 
ny,  which  has  been  so  generally  affixed  to  it. 

It  is  from  Mr.  Ilackett's  performance,  that  we 
have  chieHy  derived  this  idea  of  lago.  This  we  are 
confident  is  his  conception,  and  for  it,  we  consider 
Mr.  Hackett  entitled  to  all  praise,  although  his  exe- 
cution was  by  no  means  perfect.  We  have  once 
before  said,  that  "  with  time  and  practice,  Mr. 
Hackett  would  become  a  good  tragedian,"  and  in. 
that  opinion  we  are  confirmed  rather  than  shaken  by 
his  performance  of  lago.  He  has  faults,  but  they 
are  such  as  practice  will  remove.  He  wants 
acquaintance  with  "  stage  trick  "  as  it  is  called  ;  that 
is,  with  the  crossings,  the  pauses,  the  minutiae  of 
stage  business  which  are  so  necessary  to  give  the 
greatest  effect  to  an  actor's  readings — his  utterance 
and  his  action  are  altogether  too  quick  :  and  he  has 
a  habit  of  keeping  his  head  and  his  limbs  in  con- 
tinual motion,  which  he  miost  avoid.  The  intention 
of  his  lago  was  evident  and  excellent,  and  gave 
proof  of  the  close  attention  and  deep  study  which, 
we  are  confident,  he  has  bestowed  uj)on  the  charac- 
ter. He  makes  lago  assume  three  distinct  charac-. 
ters  ;  to  Othello^  that  of  a  frank,  blunt,  honest-hearted  \ 
friend,  but  withal  a  close  observer,  betrayed  invo- 
luntarily by  his  attachment  to  his  general,  into  the 
revelation  of  what  leads  to  his  destruction — Othello 


300  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

often  calls  him  '' honest."  "  This /^<9n^,925  creature  " 
■ — "  this  fellow's  oi.  exceeding  honesty  f^  and  here  we 
cannot  help  noticing  the  strange  error  into  which 
Hazlitt's  view  of  layds  character  has  betrayed  him  ; 
he  says,  "He  {lagd)  is  repeatedly  called  'honest 
lago^  wdiich  looks  as  if  there  were  something  suspi- 
cious in  his  appearance,  which  admitted  a  different 
construction."  [N'ow  we  imagine  that  Othello  calls 
him  honest,  because  he  thinks  he  actually  is  so.  K 
lago  w^erc  the  open  nndisguised  villain,  Hazlitt 
thinks  him,  Othello  must  have  been  a  fool,  an  egre- 
gious blockhead,  to  be  so  duped  b}^  him. 

\i  To  Roderigo  Mr.  Hackett  makes  lago  assume  the 
bearing  of  a  light-hearted  philosopher  (capable, 
however,  like  all  Yenetians,  of  strono^  feelino^s\  who 
has  been  deeply  injured  by  Othello^  and  good- 
natured  enough  to  take  npon  him  the  furtherance 
of  his  comrade's  wishes,   while  he  is  w^orkina:   his 

M  own  purpose  upon  his  enemy  ;  to  Cassio  he  aj^pears 
merely  an  honest,  faithful  soldier,  and  his  friend. 
Mr.  Hackett's  well  known  versatility  is  of  the  most 
essential  service  to  him  in  the  assumption  of  these 
different  cliaracteristics,  and  still  more  in  the  solilo- 
quies, where  his  feelings  and  the  w^orkings  of  his 
active  mind  are  exhibited  w^ithout  diso:uise.  Throng-h- 
out  the  wdiole  five  acts  his  scenes  w-ith  Othello  were 
given  with  very  great  tact  and  effect ;  but  there 
was  one  ^vhich  we  do  not  hesitate  to  pronounce 
masterly.  The  first  of  the  third  act,  from  the 
moment  in  which  lago  first  begins  to  work  upon  the 


SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS.  301 

susceptible  nature  of  tlie  Moo7'  with  his  artful  insi- 
nuations, to  the  fine  hypocritical  burst  of  indigiuition 
with  which  he  breaks  out, 

"  Oh  grace  !  Oh  Heaven  defend  me  I 
Are  you  a  man  ?  Have  you  a  soul  or  sense  ? 
Heaven  be  Avith  you — take  mine  office — Oh  wretched  fool, 
That  Uv'st  to  make  thine  honesty  a  vice,"  etc. 

And  the  half  sullen  air  of  honest  friendship  with 
which  he  sajs, 

"  I  should  be  wise,  for  honesty's  a  fool 
And  loses  that  it  works  for — " 

The  whole  scene  was  sustained  throughout  with 
admirable  force  and  spirit.  But  our  purpose  in 
writing  this  article  is  not  merely  to  praise  Mr. 
Hackett,  but  rather  to  point  out  those  particulars 
wherein  he  has  succeeded  in  presenting  something 
original  in  his  performance  of  a  character  which 
has  been  so  often  and  so  variously  played  that 
noyelty  would  almost  seem  to  be  impossible.  We 
noticed,  then,  a  point  which  we  haye  not  seen  made 
before — in  the  second  scene,  wliere  lagd's  merry 
conyersation  with  Cassia  is  interrupted  by  the  sud- 
den entrance  of  Othello : 

^^  lago.  Faith,  he  to-night  hath  boarded  a  land-carack ; 
If  it  prove  lawful  prize,  he's  made  for  ever. 
Cassio.  I  do  not  understand. 
lago.  He's  married. 
Cassio.  To  whom  ? 
lago.  Marry  to — " 


302  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

Here  lie  stops  abruptly  in  his  jesting,  and  seeing 
Othello^  snddenly  exclaims,  "  Come,  captain,  will 
you  go  ? "  and,  in  an  instant,  changes  his  sneering 
tone  and  manner  to  an  appearance  of  the  utmost 
cordiality  and  devotion.  This  is  happily  conceived, 
for  it  is  by  such  touches  as  these  that  the  Machia- 
velism  of  lago  is  most  strikingly  exemplified. 
Another  good  idea  is  the  significant  look  to  Hode- 
rigo  with  which  Mr.  Ilackett  singles  him  out  as  his 
opponent  in  the  subsequent  scuffle — intimating  that 
they  two  understand  each  other.  Mr.  H.  makes 
another  fine  point  in  the  second  act,  when,  after 
making  malicious  remarks  upon  the  grace  of  Cassio^s 
manner  in  saluting  Desdemona^  he  suddenly  bursts 
out,  on  hearing  the  trumpet  of  the  Mooi\  with  an 
assumption  of  exultation  at  his  safe  arrival.  We 
observed  a  new  reading,  also,  in  the  first  scene  of 
this  act — 

"  I'll  have  our  Michael  Cassio  on  the  hip ; 
Abuse  him  to  the  Moor  in  the  riglit  garb," 

which  we  have  always  before  heard  read  '''' ranh 
garl).^''  Mr.  H.  probably  has  some  authority  for 
his  correction,  and  it  certainly  appears  just:  the 
"  right  garb  "  would  signify  that  very  way,  which, 
wdiile  it  seems  a  palliation,  shall,  in  reality,  be  an 
aggravation — ranh  garb  we  do  not  understand  at 
all.     We  think  Mr.  Ilackett  correct,  also,  in  making 

*  The  Folio  of  1623  reads  '■'■riglit  garb;"  all  the  later  editions  sub- 
stitute the  word  ''■ranlH''  for  "right."     When  logo  says — 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  303 

larjo  pretend  to  be  somewhat  affected  by  the  liquor 
lie  lias  drunk  in  the  next  scene,  where  he  beguiles 
Ckissio  with  intoxication.  Unless  he  does  this,  his 
design  upon  Cassia  is  too  evident ;  and  lago  is  too 
craftj  to  risk  the  failure  of  his  contrivance  by  the 
detection  of  so  clumsy  an  artifice.  The  finest  point, 
however,  that  we  noticed  (and  it  is  new  to  us),  was 
the  air  of  earnest  and  interested  attention  with  which 
he  leaned  forward  to  catch  the  words  of  Othello,  in 
the  second  scene,  and  the  involuntary  and  suddenly 
suppressed  start  of  joy  which  he  gives  when  he  hears 
him  pronounce  the  sentence — "  Cassio,  I  love  thee, 
but  never  more  be  officer  of  mine."  In  the  first 
scene  of  the  third  act  Mr.  H.  introduces  a  reading, 
which  is  certainly  new,  but  which  we  do  not  approve. 

"  I'll  abuse  him  to  the  Moor  in  the  right  garb," 

he  means — "  I  will  assume  the  right  kind  of  covering  to  hide  any 

nakedness  of  my  sinister  purpose,     I'll  seem  at  first  reluctant  when 

ask'd  to  give  Othello  my  evidence — 

"  Othello.   Honest  lago,  that  look'st  dead  with  grieving, 
Speak,  who  began  this  ?    On  thy  love  I  charge  thee, 

"  and  then  I'll  so  color  my  narrative  of  the  brawl,  and  seem  so  exceed- 
ingly anxious  to  excuse  Cassia's  behavior,  as  to  have  forgotten  my- 
self and  become  too  hasty  and  voluble  in  expressions,  and  by  inter- 
jecting apparently  conscientious  stops  and  reflective  breaks  in  my 
specious  story,  (as,  'Yet  surely  Cassio — I  believe — received,'  &c.),  I 
shall  the  more  thoroughly  criminate  Cassio,  in  proportion  to  my  seem- 
ing earnestness  of  eftbrt  to  excuse  him  to  the  understanding  of  Oilidloy 
That  such  was  the  '•'■right  garb"  or  cloak  to  cover  his  design  is  proved 
by  the  succeeding  remarks  of  Othello — 

"  Othello.   I  know,  lago, 

Thy  honesty  and  love  doth  mince  this  matter, 
Making  it  light  to  Cassio." 

J.  H.  H. 


80-i  SHAKESFEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

'■'■  Othello.  I  do  not  think  but  Desdemona's  honest. 
lago.  Long  hvc  she  so — and  long  hve  you  to  think  so. 
Othello.  But  yet,  how  nature,  erring  from  itself — 
lago.  Ay,  there's  the  point,  as  (to  be  bold  with  you) 
Not  to  aflfect,"  etc. 

Mr.  Hackett  gives  quite  a  different  signification  to 
the  words  in  the  parenthesis  and  reads  tliem  thus, 
"  as,  to  be  bold,  with  yoio  " — as  if  he  were  referring 
in  his  own  mind  to  a  former  observation  of  her 
father,  who  says  of  her,  "  a  maiden  never  boki," 
and  now  applied  the  epithet  to  her  conduct,  height- 
ening its  force  by  making  it  refer  particularly  to 
Othello.  To  be  bold,  with  Azm,  of  all  men,  whose 
difference  of  age  and  complexion  should  naturally 
have  made  him  an  object  of  dislike  or  fear  to  her. 
This  reading  may  be  correct  enough,  but  the  other 
is  quite  as  good,  and  has  the  sanction  of  long  esta- 
blished custom  to  justify  it. 

But  it  is  time  to  put  an  end  to  this  notice,  which, 
when  w^e  began  it,  we  had  no  thought  of  extending 
to  such  an  unreasonable  length.  We  will  therefore 
only  mention  one  more  touch  in  Mr.  Hackett's  per- 
formance, with  which  we  were  much  pleased,  and 
then  conchide  with  a  few  words  of  advice  to  him — 
which  lie  will  adopt  or  disregard  at  his  pleasure. 
Tlie  point  that  we  like  is  the  manner  of  his  exit 
when  Cassia  declares  that  he  had  found  the  hand- 
kerchief in  his  chamber,  where  it  had  been  dropped 
by  Tago.  He  meets  the  inquiring  eyes  of  Othello 
(naturally  directed  to  him  for  confirmation),  with  a 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  805 

significant  look  and  action,  expressive  of  his  con- 
tempt for  the  credulity  and  weakness  of  his  dnpe  ; 
then  gazes  fixedly  and  with  a  look  of  exultation 
upon  Othello  and  the  latal  bed,  and  seems  to  be 
absorbed  in  self-gratulating  meditation  upon  the 
successful  issue  of  his  villany,  from  which  he  is 
roused  by  a  touch  upon  the  shoulder  from  one  of 
the  guards,  turns,  and  goes  out  rapidly  and  cheer- 
fully, as  if  content  to  endure  whatever  might  be  in 
store  for  him. 

The  advice  we  have  to  give  Mr.  Hackett  is,  to 
play  lago  again  as  soon  as  possible,  and  to  turn  his 
attention,  as  much  as  may  be,  exclusively  to  tra- 
gedy. Q. 

These  notices  were  written  by  Mr.  John  Inman 
for  the  N.  Y.  Even{7ig  Post^  where  they  may  be 
found  in  its  files  for  April,  1828.  I  did  not  take  his 
advice — "  to  turn  my  attention  as  much  as  may  be 
to  tragedy  '' — because  it  did  not  draio^  as  did  my 
comedy ^  besides,  it  demanded  continued  study  and 
constant  practice,  and  brought  me,  who  was  a 
novice^  in  continual  comparison  with  old  stagers 
of  stereotyped  conventionalities,  and  before  au- 
diences containing  scarcely  one  educated  critic 
among  them,  or  capable  of  discerning  and  indi- 
cating by  applauding  or  condemning  my  innova- 
tions of  conception  and  nice  subtleties  in  collating 
the  text,  however  crude  my  acting  might  be. 

J.  H.  H. 


306  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

lago  has  been  classified  by  its  players  as  "  a  very 
uphill  part ;"  the  reason  is  obvious.  Icujd's  vices  and 
villany  are  so  fl.agrant  that  when  discovered  his 
very  presence  becomes  hideous  and  repulsive. 
Othello^  on  the  contrary,  displays  many  ennobliug 
traits  of  character  which  enlist  and  carry  along  with 
him  the  sympathies  of  an  audience,  and  his  actor'' s 
pretensions  to  public  favor  are  promoted  accord- 
ingly ;  whereas,  the  2)layer  of  lago  has  not  only  no 
aid  towards  winning  their  partiality  by  its  goodness^ 
but  is  in  some  measure  bound  to  partake  of  the 
demoralizing  effect  of  their  indignation  at  his  cha- 
racter's baseness. 

An  instance  of  such  effect  is  said  to  have  occurred 
when  King  George  the  Third  witnessed  the  perform- 
ance oi  lago  by  the  famous  George  Frederick  Cooke ; 
that  simple-minded  sovereign  remarked,  "  Cooke 
must  be  a  very  bad  man  at  hearty  because  if  he  were 
not,  he~  could  not  so  well  j^erform  such  a  heartless 
villain." 

When  Junius  Brutus  Booth,  who  had  been 
brought  from  the  Provinces  to  the  British  Metropolis 
by  the  Co  vent  Garden  Manager,  for  the  special  pur- 
pose of  disputing  Edmund  Kean's  superiority  as 
Riehard  the  Third  at  Drury  Lane,  had  afforded 
the  London  public  sufficient  opportunities  for  insti- 
tuting comparisons  of  their  respective  pretensions  in 
the  part,  and  concerning  the  merits  of  which  the 
great  majority  appeared  in  favor  of  Kean,  though 
Booth  had  many  ardent  admirers  in  the  same  roll, 


SHAKESPEREAN   SUBJECTS.  307 

Elliston,  the  Drurv  Lane  Miuiager,  wlio  was  a  wily 
politician  in  theatricals,  tempted  Booth  to  "  come 
over  from  Covent  Garden  for  a  night  and  play  lacjo 
to  Kean's  Othello^''  his  most  favorite  part,  and  pro- 
nounced by  Lord  Byron  and  all  the  critics  ''  Kean's 
most  intellectual  and  artistical  performance."  Booth 
was  persuaded,  and  pitted  against  Kean,  who  had 
become  thoroughly  established  in  London  as  "  the 
Othello  of  the  age,"  whilst  Booth  was  comparatively 
a  stranger  in  London.  The  result  was,  that  many, 
who  had  previously  contended  that  their  style  and 
personal  peculiarities  were  very  similar  and  their 
genius  equal,  upon  seeing  the  two  act  together, 
agreed  there  was  ^'' no  comparisons''  that  "Booth 
could  not  stand  by  the  side  of  Kean,"  and  the  critics 
reported  that  "Kean  had  floored  Booth  and  walked 
over  him  completely."  Mr.  Booth  never  recovered 
any  position  afterward  in  London,  and  in  reference 
to  that  event,  in  conversation  with  me  at  Kew  York 
some  years  afterward.  Booth  said — "  Kean's  Othello 
smothered  Desdemona  and  my  lago  too."  Edmund 
Kean  returned  from  his  second  visit  to  America  to 
Drury  Lane,  where  he  appeared  in  January,  1827. 
After  performing  his  established  parts  repeatedly 
there  was  great  desire  expressed  to  see  him  play 
lago^  which  he  had  not  acted  for  a  number  of  years, 
his  Othello  having  become  his  favorite  and  esta- 
blished as  such  with  the  public.  Li  order  to  gnitify 
the  curious,  Mr.  James  Wallack,  then  the  leading 
tragedian  of  that  theatre,  was  cast  Othello^  and  Mr. 


308  SIlAKESrEREAX   SUBJECTS. 

Kean  reappeared  on  the  occasioji  as  lago.  Mr. 
"Wallack's  Othello^  though  accepted  by  the  great 
majority  of  the  audience,  especially  under  the  exi- 
gency, was  not  satisfactory  to  a  few  who  expressed 
disapprobation  at  his  delivery  of  certain  of  Kean's 
points,  ungenerously  comparing  him  with  Kean's 
standard,  when  Mr.  Wallack  had  had  no  ambition, 
and  indeed  had  unwlllmgly  consented  to  play 
Othello  with  him ;  nevertheless  Mr.  Kean  made  no 
feature  then  of  his  lago^  and  I  believe  never  per- 
formed it  again. 

During  the  winter  of  1832-33  Captain  Polhill,  the 
lessee,  through  Alfred  Bunn,  his  acting-manager, 
engaged  Macready  to  play  lago  to  Kean's  Othello^ 
with  the  understanding  that  Kean,  after  a  few  per- 
formances of  Othello^  would  appear  as  lago  alter- 
nately to  Macready's  Othello.  Macready's  lago  was 
generally  commended  by  critics,  and  seemed  to  me  a 
very  creditable  performance  of  his  own  conception, 
but  it  was  not  generally  admired  as  much  as  Charles 
Young's.  Macready,  however,  could  not  obtain  an 
opportunity  to  perform  Othello  wdth  Kean,  who, 
though  urged  again  and  again  by  the  manager,  posi- 
tively and  repeatedly  refused. 

/    The  fact  is,  the  conventional  idea  was  then  and 

I  generally  still  obtains  among  the  theatrical  public 

I  that  lago  should  be  acted  in  a  black  wig  and  with 

heavy  black  eyebrows,  and  betray  in  his  counte- 

vnance  throughout,  and  in  all  his  outward  semblance, 

^he  characteristics   of  a  barefaced  ruffian,  whereas 


\j 


SHAKESPEREAN    SUBJECTS.  309 

Xatiire  furiiislies  black-hearted  villains  of  all  com- 
plexions, and  the  records  of  crime  have  shown 
more  of  light  than  of  a  dark  complexion  ;  besides,  if 
lagd's  villany  is  mad'e  so  apparent  Vo  all  around  him, 
and  not  confined  as  it  should  be  to  his  soliloquies^ 
and  where  only  by  his  self-communion  the  audience 
are  let  into  his  secrets  as  he  exposes  his  subtlet}-, 
Othello  could  not  have  been  so  deceived  by  him  as 
to  remark,  "  this  fellow's  of  exceeding  honesty  and  ^, 
know^s  all  qualities  with  a  learned  spirit  of  human 
dealings  "  and  repeatedly  calling  him  '^honest,  hon- 
est lagoP  Though  Shakespeare  intended  lago  to 
dupe  that  silly  young  gallant  Roderigo^  he  surely 
never  designed  that  he  should  make  easily  and 
readily  a  fool  of  Othello  /  though  he  apostrophizes 
to  himself  as  such  after  the  denouement,  "  Oh  !  fool, 
fool,  fool !" 

The  character  of  Iccgo  is  composed  of  such  peculiar 
traits,  some  of  his  very  words  in  soliloquy  have  such 
particular  significance,  and  require  such  marked 
emphasis  to  make  them  the  more  intelligible  to  his 
audience,  his  subtlety  and  hypocrisy,  his  direct  and 
his  sinister  motives  and  purposes  are  so  skilfully 
blended,  and  carefully  or  more  or  less  artfully  con- 
cealed according  to  his  respective  objects  and  the 
difi'erent  penetration  or  circumstances  of  each  one 
with  whom  he  has  any  intercourse,  that  the  part 
requires  to  be  diligently  and  patiently  studied  in  all 
its  bearings  before  even  the  most  comprehensive 
genius  can  clearly  perceive  the  immortal  dramatist's 


810  SHAKESPEREAN  SUBJECTS. 

design  ;  and  then,  none  but  some  actor  of  great  talent 
in  portraying  dissimulation,  and  of  sound  judgment 
and  long  experience,  may  reasonably  hope  to  pro- 
duce such  eflects  upon  an  ordinary  audience  as  will 
prove  satisfactory  to  them  generally  and  to  himself 
as  an  artist  particularly. 

lago  may  indeed  be  regarded  by  professional 
actors  as  one  of  the  most  uncertain  "  and  least  profita- 
ble of  great  parts  which  can  be  attempted  within  the 
whole  range  of  Shakespeare's  dramas,"  and  if  an 
actor  would  become  poj)ular  in  that  character,  he 
must,  for  the  sake  of  efl'ect  upon  the  uninstructed  and 
impracticable  majority  of  play-goers,  submit  to  their 
false  but  settled  notions  respecting  lago^  and  sacrifice 
as  a  condition  his  own  trite  judgment  and  an  ortho- 
dox consistency  with  the  poet's  words  and  his 
obvious  meaning. 


PART  VI. 


FALSI AFF. 


NOTES,    CRITICISMS,    AND   REMARKS   RESPECTING 

FALSTAFF, 

IN    THE    FIRST    PART    OF    KING    HENRY    IV. 


Late  in  the  month  of  May,  1831,  whilst  Charles 
Kean  and  myself  were  starring  upon  alternate  nights 
at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia,  and  were 
fellow-guests  in  Head's  Mansion  House — then  the 
most  favorite  hotel  of  that  city — we  strolled  about 
the  town  together. 

In  the  course  of  our  promenade,  Charles  Kean 
asked  me  if  I  had  "  ever  thought  of  acting  Fal- 
staffT^  I  replied  that  "with  such  object  I  had  par- 
tially studied  the  character."  He  observed,  "  I 
have  a  strong  desire  to  play  Hotsjpiir,  and  if  you 
will  undertake  to  be  ready  within  a  week  to  make 
a  first  appearance  in  Falstaff^  I  will  essay  Hotspur 
on  the  occasion  for  the  first  time  also."  We  per- 
formed accordingly,  and  both  were  favorably  re- 
ceived. May  31,  1832.  The  weather  that  evening 
was  very  warm,  and  the  costume  I  wore  covering  a 

14 


814  FALSTAFF. 

heavy  piiclding  or  stuffing  of  curled  hair — to  give 
the  requisite  rotundity  to  Fat  Jack^s  large  propor- 
tions— together  with  my  anxiety  and  nervousness 
about  the  result,  caused  me  to  perspire  very  pro- 
fusely. Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  play,  tlie 
manager,  Mr.  Duffy,  came  behind  tlie  scenes,  and 
repeated  some  complimentary  remarks  whicli  he 
said  certain  critics  among  the  audience  had  made  to 
him,  and  inquired,  "  How  do  you  feel  now  ?"  I 
replied,  "Severely  punished  by  the  heat  of  the 
weather,  intensified  as  it  is  by  confined  space,  the  gas- 
lights, and  the  breath  of  the  audience."  "Psha!" 
rejoined  Mr.  Duffy,  "you  don't  suffer  at  all  when 
compared  with  Coojper'^  {Thomas  -4.),  "just  such  a 
night  as  this  about  a  year  ago.  After  Falstaff''s 
running  away  and  roaring  for  '  Mercy,'  when  sur- 
prised and  chased  from  Gad's  Hill  by  the  Prince  and 
Poins,  Cooper  insisted  upon  having  the  large  double- 
doOrs  at  the  back  of  the  stage — constructed  in  order 
to  admit  elephants,  horses  and  cars,  on  occasion — 
thrown  wide  open  ;  and,  regardless  of  the  rear  being 
upon  a  public  alley,  ordered  his  servant  to  bring  a 
chair,  which  he  placed  in  that  opening  and  sat  him- 
self there,  to  pant  and  try  to  cool  himself.  Every 
time  thereafter,  as  he  came  off  the  stage,  he  threw 
himself  into  the  chair,  and  commenced  by  crying 
aloud  to  his  servant — 'Where's  that  brandy  and 
water  ?'  *  Here,  sir  !'  Having  swigged  it  down, 
Cooper  next  ordered  him,  '  Bring  here  a  looking- 
glass  !'       After   reconnoitring  his  features  in    the 


FALSTAFF.  315 

mirror — '  There's  that  bloody-red  nose  of  mine,  and 
more  characteristic  than  Bardolph's ;  get  some  chalk 
and  whiten  it !'  Ilis  servant  had  hardly  time  to 
effect  it,  when  Cooper  was  called  to  the  stage. 
Upon  returning,  as  before,  he  called  first  for  '  brandy 
and  water  !'  then  for  the  looking-glass,  and,  again 
surveying  his  face,  he  rebuked  his  servant — '  Didn't 
I  tell  you,  sirrah,  to  chalk  my  nose  ?'  Ilis  man 
replied,  ^  I  did,  sir,  but  you  sweat  so  much  the  chalk 
won't  stay  on  it !'  '  TTell,  then,  take  a  towel  and 
wipe  my  nose  dry^  first,  and  then  rub  Qnore  chalk 
over  it.'  He  was  interrupted  by  the  call-hoy — '  Mr. 
Cooper,  the  stage  is  waiting  for  you  !'     '  Is  it  ?     I'll 

pray  to  be  d d  if  ever  I  undertake  to  act  this 

infernal  old  vas-abond  ao^ain  !'  " 

With  respect  to  my  own  and  peculiar  concej^tiou 
and  rendition  upon  the  stage  of  the  character  of 
Falstaff^  and  concerning  which  I  may  be  expected 
to  write  something,  I  would  premise,  that,  as  it  is 
seldom  given  to  us  to  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us, 
perhaps  I  cannot  convey  to  such  as  never  have  and 
never  may  see  my  performance  of  the  part  an  idea 
of  it  better  than  by  transcribing  some  of  the  most 
graphic  reports  of  various  critics  for  the  press  in 
Great  Britain  and  America,  beo-innina:  in  184:0. 


316  FALSTAFF. 


FALSTAFF ; 


A    SHAKESPEKEAN    TRACT. 


As  a  curious  native  American,  my  attention  lias 
been  occasionally  arrested  by  the  labored  attempts 
of  certain  London  theatrical  critics  at  what  is  termed 
"  tine  writing ;"  and  as  my  own  debut  in  Falstaff^ 
at  Drury  Lane  theatre,  elicited  a  critique  of  this 
species  "  in  the  leading  journal  of  Europe,"  I  will 
merely  take  up  and  review  the  writer's  J9r<?m^^^^, 
which  relate  solely  to  the  character  itself,  in  order 
that,  as  its  actor^  I  may  escape  any  imputation  of  an 
unbecoming  captiousness  towards  a  professional 
censor  about  what  follows  and  treats  specially  of  my 
stage  readings. 

A  critic  of  the  "Times"  ^Newspaper  of  2d  No- 
vember inst.,  in  reporting  the  representation  of  the 
''^  First  Part  of  Henry  the  Fourth^^  advances  the 
following  characteristics,  as  constituting  his  "  ideal" 
of  Falstaff^  which,  by  sentences,  I  will  here  reca- 
pitulate in  italics^  and  then  attempt,  link  by  link,  to 
unravel  his  concejptions^  coiled  with  such  seeming 
subtlety.  After  capping  his  notice  with  tlie  title 
of  the  play,  and  some  general  remarks,  he  com- 
mences thus : — 

"  What  an  accurate  halancing,  a  nice  adjustment 
of  qualities^  is  necessanj  to  2^ortray  Falstaff^ 
that  he  may  he  the  j^roper  raixticre  of  dehaiir 


FALSTAFF.  317 

cMe^  coward^  hully,  wit^  and  courtier^  loithout 
heing  one  to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest^  or  an 
unfortunate^  disjointed  succession  of  cdl  /" 
Such   a   problem,    I   should   imagine,   would   be 
unavoidably  solved  if  the   actor  justly  and  accu- 
rately    delivers     Shakespeare's    own     ingredients, 
accompanied   by   such    action  as   may  be   natural 
to  one  of  his  bulk   and   breeding,  in   his  relative 
situations. 

"  What  richness  in  every  word  that  is  to  he  ut- 
tered T 
Yocal  "  richness"  depends   upon   each  listener's 
own  ideas  of  what  is  the  quality  of  voice  peculiar 
to  ohesity  /  my  own   observation  of  human  nature 
has  determined   me  that  fat  men   generally  have 
either  thin  voices,  or  such  as  are  constantly  alternat- 
ing between  a  bass  and  a  falsetto,  as  if  escaping  a 
throat  partially  clogged  with  a  surplus  of  flesh. 
"  What  uyictuosity  of  tongue  as  well  as  jperson  • 
what  an  assumption  of  maudlin  uneasiness 
that  ever  pinches  Falstaffinto  a  sort  of  repentr 
ance  .^" 
7"  cannot  imagine  any,  inasmuch  as  he  never  exhi- 
bits the  slightest  proof  of  a  sincere  disposition  to 
repent  of  anything.     Once,  indeed,  being  "  troubled 
by  him  with  vanity,"  he  affectedly  threatens  the 
Prince  with  his  own  amendment,  by  "  giving  over 
this  life ;"  and  in  almost  the  same  breath,  being 
tempted,   yields,    and    relapses    "  from   praying    to 
purse-taking."     At  another  time,  when  apostrophiz- 


318  FALSTAFF. 

ing  his  loss  of  flesh — his  fear  of  becoming  "  out  of 
heart  shortly  " — his  forgetfiilness  of  "  what  the  inside 
of  a  church  is  made  of,"  and  the  spoHatory  eifects 
of  "  villanous  company,"  Bardolph  insinuates  he  is 
"  so  fretful,  he  cannot  live  long ;"  whereupon, 
instead  of  any  sign  of  repentance^  he  calls  for  "  a 
bawdy  song,  to  make  him  merry." 

"  What  rajndity  in  the  discharge  of  the  apt  epi- 
thets whichhegetone  another  with  such  astound- 
ing fertility^  " 

Doubtless  as  much  rapidity  in  articulation  as  is 
consistent  with  his  physical  short-windedness,  and  a 
zealous  desire  to  return  promptly  the  personalities 
heaped  upon  him,  at  one  time,  by  the  Prince  with 
such  exemplary  volubility,  mutually  unrestrained 
(as  they  are)  by  any  well-bred  consideration  of  the 
presence  of  their  low  companions. 

" what  courtesy  to   the   heir  apparent  are 

necessary^  hefore  even  the  m.ost  careless  peruser 
of  Shahespewre   can  see  the  Falstaff  of  his 
imagination^ 
What  courtesy  f     Indeed,  very  little  of  any  sort 
can   reasonably  be  expected  from  "  an  impudent, 
embossed  rascal,"  who,  w^henever  annoyed,  is  hardly 
restrained  by  intimidation  from  pursuing  his  scur- 
rility towards  a  prince,  not  only  habituated  to  his 
familiarities,  called  "rascalliest,"  and  told  to  "hang 
himself  in  his  own  heir-apparent  garters,"  but  such 
an   one   as,   to   indulge   his   "  inordinate   and    low 
desires,   barren    pleasures — rude    society,"    invites 


FALSTAFF.  319 

general  disrespect,  by  descending  (as  himself  de- 
scribes) to  "  sonnd  tlie  very  base-string  of  humility, 
and  to  become  sworn  brother  to  a  leash  of  drawers, 
calling  them  Tom,  Dick,  and  Francis,"  and  proficient 
enongh  to  drink  "  with  any  tinker,  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, the  rest  of  his  life." 

Such  lold  shew  of  "  courtesy  "  as  is  compatible 
with  his  venturing  a  familiar,  if  not  impertinent, 
joke  on  AYorcester's  defection  in  the  presence  of 
Majesty  itself;  for  example  when  the  King  animad- 
verts thereon,  he  interjects — "Rebellion  lay  in  his 
way,  and  he  found  it !" 

Such  respectful  "  courtesy^''  under  the  most  trying 
circumstances,  as  may  merit  the  rebuke  of  the 
Prince  in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  when  refused  his 
sword,  and  misled  by  the  offer  of  his  "pistol,"  he 
(\vQi^^Falstaff''s  sach-hottle^  and  rushes  away  angrily, 
exclaiming — "  Is  it  a  time  to  jest  and  dally  now  ?" 

"  ^Yith  all  the  hold  outline  and  full-facedness  of 
a  coarsely  ])ainted  Dutch  clocT^^  he  has  cdl  the 
delicate  organization  of  a  Geneva  vjatch  /  and 
hard  is  it  for  the  actor  to  avoid  marring  sorne 
jpart  of  the  fine  machinery P 

This  clock-and- watch  figure  may  be  striTcing  to 
others^  but  to  discover  the  most  remote  analogy 
between  such  mechanism  and  Falstaff^s  bodily 
exterior,  with  its  soul's  motive  shining  clearly 
through  every  action,  puzzles  me  as  much  as  I  think 
it  would  have  done  the  Prince  to  compare  the 
minutes  of  that  "  long  hour  by  Shrewsbury  clock," 


820  FALSTAFF. 

wherein  the  dead  Percy  and  the  prostrate  and 
death-counterfeiting  FaUtaff^  "  both  rose  at  the 
same  instant  and  fought"  so  valiantly. 

Indulgent  British  reader  !  Accustomed  as  we 
AmericanshdiWQ  been  to  reverence  the  chastening  rod 
of  London  criticism, — once  the  fiat  of  each  new 
Shakespearean  actor's  fate,  and  liallowed,  as  in  by- 
gone days,  for  its  stimulating  and  restraining  influ- 
ence upon  many,  whose  genius  then  illumined,  and 
whose  memories  still  reflect  a  glimmering  glory  on 
the  British  stage,  how  unavoidably  must  our  esteem 
decline  at  such  specimens  of  degeneracy ! — and 
when,  also,  such  a  journal  as  the  "  Morning  Chroni- 
cle," (in  reference  to  the  same  occasion,)  after  pre- 
mising that  "  Mr.  Hackett  is  indisputably  a  good 
comedian," — ^liis  "  Falstaff  about  as  good  as  any 
now  on  the  stage,"  &c.,  sagely  remarks,  "  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  jollity  about  him,  but  withal,  coarse  : 
THOUGH  Falstaff  is  a  humorist,  he  is  a  gentleman.""^ 

Falstaff  a  gentleman  ! !  !  I  should  like  to  learn 
in  what  one  respect  beyond  the  ideal  quality  asso- 
ciated with  a  hnigJdhood,  The  Prince  sketches  to 
him  the  following  picture  of  himself, — viz.  "  a  devil 
in  the  likeness  of  a  fat  old  man — a  tun  of  man — a 
trunk  of  humors — a  l)olthig  Jmtch  of  heasiliness — a 
swoln  parcel  of  dropsies — a  huge  bombard  of  sack — 
a  reverend  vice — grey  iniquity,  father-rufiian,  vanity 
in  years — neat  and  cleanly  only  in  carving  a  capon 

*  Mad  Tarn,  in  King  Lear,  says  "  The  Prince  of  darkness  is  a  gen- 
ileinan:'—J.  H.  H. 


FALSTAFF.  321 

and  eating  it — villanous  in  all  things,  and  worthy  in 
nothing."  Are  any  of  these  innate  characteristics 
of  a  gentleman  ?  Even  what  prepossessing  j9(?r5(9?i«/ 
apjpeojrance  does  Fahtaff^s  own  vanity  claim  ?  "  A 
good  portly  man — of  a  cheerful  look,  a  pleasing  eye, 
and  a  most  noble  carriao^e !"  and  admits  withal 
that  he  is  "  old  and  merry."  What  is  his  conduct  f 
Is  he  not  mean,  coAvardly,  and  selfish  ? — addicted  to 
"  incomprehensible  lying  ?" — lawfully  due  to  the 
gallows  for  highway  robbery  ? — guilty  of  "  abusing 
the  king's  press  damnably,"  by  a  fraudulent  ex- 
change of  soldiery,  and  of  cruelty  in  leading  his 
"  ragamufiins  where  they  are  so  well  peppered  that 
not  three  out  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  are  left  alive?" 
Is  he  not  ovei'bearing  to  his  hnmble  dependents  ? 
Is  not  the  poor  hostess,  who  has  trusted  him  a  long 
score  for  "  his  diet  and  by-drinkings,  and  bought 
him  a  dozen  shirts  to  his  back,  and  lent  him  twenty 
pounds  besides,"  slandered  most  wantonly  and 
grossly  by  him,  whom  she  may  well  call  ''a  foul- 
mouthed  man  ?"  If  so,  the  sentiments  and  feeline^s 
of  a  gentleman  cannot  be  predicated  of  his  words  or 
his  actions  /  nor  can  any  actor  who  delivers  certain 
of  his  language,  and  that  the  least  objectionable  to 
modern  ears  polite,  as,  ''"you  lie^  hostess^^^  &c.,  avoid 
being  identified  with  vulgarity  and  coarseness.  As 
for  Falstaff^s  disposition  to  cultivate  a  dignified  and 
court  manner^  his  ambition  in  that  particular  may 
be  inferred  from  his  own  words,  that  "  to  become  a 
rare  hangman^  jumps  with  his  humor  as  well  as 


822  FALSTAFF. 

waiting  in  the  court;"  in  fact,  except  for  a  few 
moments  wlien  meeting  Westmoreland,  there  is  no 
situation  in  the  acting-play  where  Faldaff  would 
not  consider  an  assumed  rejineinent  of  ina7inei\  use- 
less affectation. 

In  conclusion,  Shakespeare  has  invested  that  phi- 
losophic compound  of  vice  and  sensuality,  with  no 
amiable  or  tolerable  quality  to  gloss  or  cover  his 
moral  deformity,  except  a  surpassingly-brilliant  and 
charming  wit,  and  a  spontaneous  and  irresistible  flow 
of  humor.  Tliat  the  character  was  designed  for 
stage  effect  is  evident  from  his  many  practically- 
dramatic  situations,  and  the  idea  that  it  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  histrionic  art  to  represent  him  properly 
can  only  originate  in  a  hypercritical  and  fantastic 
imagination  ;  one  of  that  sickly  cast,  which,  like 
unto  a  peevish  child,  would  not  rest  satisfied  even  if 
humored  with  its  own  fancies ;  therefore,  the  ends 
of  criticism  would  be  far  more  beneficially  gained 
by  the  public  and  the  performer,  if  censors  for  the 
press  would  occasionally  analyze,  where  they  differ 
about  prominent  traits  of  character,  and  particular- 
ize any  new  candidate's  defects,  whether  of  judg- 
ment, art,  or  physical  qualifications  ;  then  could 
every  reader  judge  for  himself,  instead  of  being,  as 
now,  obliged  to  yield  his  premises  to  the  ijpse  dixit 
of  some  Sir  Oracle,  who  may  confound  the  faculties 
of  his  cursory  observer,  by  a  sweeping  ad-cajptan- 
dwn-vulgus  display  of  pseudo-intelligence,  and 
impose  also  upon  the  player,  who,  having  made  a 


FALSTAFF.  323 

study  of  cliaracter  the  business  of  his  life,  may  pos- 
sibly have  forgotten  more  than  such  a  mere  occa- 
sional peruser  ever  knew  of  the  subject-matter. 

James  H.  Hackett. 

22  Charlotte  Street,  Bedford  ) 
Square,  London,  Nov.  5,  1839.    ) 


Extract  from  the  London  Times,  Feb.  7,  1845. 

"  3f/\  Hackett^  the  American  comedian,  has  re- 
appeared at  Covent  Garden  as  Falstaff  in  the  First 
Part  of  Henry  lY.,  a  character  on  which,  we  have 
heard,  he  has  bestowed  great  study ;  and  his  per- 
formance bears  tlie  mark  of  study.  There  is  proba- 
bly not  a  gesture,  look,  or  motion,  on  the  part  of 
Mr.  Hackett,  which  has  not  in  his  mind  its  meaning 
and  significance.  This  is  in  itself  a  commendation. 
It  is  something  now-a-days  to  find  an  actor  desiring 
earnestly  to  give  a  view  of  a  character,  when  it  is 
so  ordinjtry  a  plan  to  learn  by  rote  a  few  convention- 
alities, and  conceive  nothing.  As  for  the  view 
itself,  that  is  another  matter.  We  should  say  that 
Mr.  Hackett  looks  upon  Falstaff  as  a  slower  and 
more  deliberate  person  than  he  is  usually  con- 
sidered— less  rejoicing  in  the  play  of  his  own  fancy, 
more  premeditative  with  his  jokes,  more  seriously 
irascible.  The  exterior  of  the  character,  as  he  gives 
it,  is  touchy,  fretful,  even  serious ;  it  is  only  on  occa- 
sions that  the  mirth  breaks  out,  and  then,  by  the 
intensity  of  the  laugh,  he  marks  a  strong  contrast 


324:  FALSTAFF 

with  the  usual  deportment.  ^  *  If  we  rightly 
interpret  Mr.  Ilackett's  meaning,  as  displayed  in  his 
acting,  it  is  this :  that  JFalstaff  is  a  man  of  cynical 
temperament,  with  the  infirmity  of  age  already 
weighing  upon  him — that  he  has  a  kind  of  mental 
as  well  as  bodily  obesity,  and  that  though  the  inter- 
nal humor  of  the  man  is  unquestionable,  it  does  not 
readily  rise  to  the  top.  To  this  view  of  the  cha- 
racter Mr.  Hackett  seems  to  have  worked  up  most 
conscientiously.  Two  isolated  speeches  we  heard 
with  unmingled  satisfaction.  Falstaff'^s  description 
of  his  ragged  regiment  was  given  with  a  real  sense 
of  enjoyment  at  the  ridiculous.  The  "  fun"  was 
allowed  free  play — the  laugh  at  the  exit  was  capital. 
The  other  sj^eech  was  that  on  the  futility  of  honor — 
good  for  a  different  reason.  The  deliberate  qualities 
of  the  actor  were  well  placed  in  this  soliloquy, 
which,  though  comic,  is  deeply  reflective,  and  in- 
volves the  destruction  of  the  whole  life  of  the  mid- 
dle ages." 

Memarks  upon  the  Foregoing. 

London,  Feb.  7,  1845. 
After  many  years  of  stage-practice  in  the  Falstaff 
of  toth  parts  of  Kimrj  Henry  /F.,  and  also  in  that 
of  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  I  think  there  was 
not  a  phase  of  the  character — either  as  exhibited  in 
his  own  words,  or  as  relatively  indicated  by  their 
context — wliich  has  escaped  my  minute  observation 
and  very  careful  consideration  before  I  resorted  to 


FALSTAFF.  325 

liistrioiiic  art  to  embody  and  represent  it  to  an  audi- 
ence ;  still,  as  I  claim  no  infallibility  of  judgment,  1 
bold  my  senses  ever  open  to  conviction,  and  am 
pleased  ratlier  tban  offended  wbenever  a  critic  will 
take  any  reasonable  exception  to  my  own  under- 
standing^ or  will  specify  bis  objections  to  mj per- 
so7iation  of  Falstaff.  By  a  critic,  I  mean  one  wbo 
at  least  remembers  eacb  of  tbe  plays  wberein  Sbake- 
speare  bas  introduced  Falstaff.  I  bave  made  tbe 
cbaracter  a  practical  study  tbe  greater  portion  of 
my  professional  life,  and  feel  ready  to  maintain  my 
conception  witb  tbe  poet's  text  and  its  most  obvious 
interpretation. 

Every  trait  of  my  representation,  described  by 
"Tbe  Times,"  I  contend  for,  and  I  am  gratified  in 
discovering  tbat  I  succeeded  in  depicting  each  so 
clearly.  .  Tbe  specific  cbaracter  oi  Falstaff  ^s  bumor 
cbanges  witb  tbe  circitmstances.  Wlien  Poins  bas 
bidden  Falstaff^ s  borse  bebind  tbe  bedge,  and  by 
sucb  practical  joke  bas  compelled  old  Fat  Jach 
to  clamber  Gadsbill  owfoot^  Falstaff  \^  said  to  ''^fret 
nice  a  giimmed  velvet  /"  be  also  fumes  out  a  long 
soliloquy  of  splenetic  invective,  ending  witb — "  I 
bate  it !" 

Tbe  "Times"  critic  cbarges  tbat  I  look  upon  Fal- 
staff as  "  more  seriously  irascible  tban  be  is  usually 
considered."  I  would  submit  wbetber  Falstaff 
would  not  be  in  earnest  w^ben  Poins  confesses  tbe 
trick  be  bad  put  upon  liim,  and  sbelters  bimself  be- 
hind tbe  Prince  to  escape  punisbment,  in  saying — ■ 


826  FALSTAFF. 

"  Now^  can  not  I  strike  him  if  I  were  to  be  hanged  ;" 
and  also,  whether  it  was  not  Poins's  agility  or  the 
Princess  personal  interference,  or  the  nrgency  of 
their  predatory  expedition,  \n\\\^  jyrevented  Falstaff 
from  "  striking  JihiiP 

In  Falstaff ''s  abuse  of  the  hostess,  and  when  back- 
biting the  Prince^  he  inteijects — 

"  The  Prince  I  He  is  a  Jack  !  a  sneak-cup  !  and  if  he  were 
here  and  were  to  say  so,  I'd  cudgel  him  like  a  dog  IJ 

In  fact,  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  lY.,  and  the 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  too,  furnish  many  in- 
stances of  Falstaff  ^s  habitual  recourse  to  his  "  cud- 
gel," and  of  the  indulgence  of  his  "  irascible " 
humors.  Is  not  Falstaff' "  touchy  f "  Mark  !  When 
BardolpTi^  encouraged  to  become  familiar  with  him, 
ventures  a  jest  confirming  Falstaff'' s  own  report 
of  his  condition — "  I^ow,  I  live  out  of  all  order,,  and 
out  of  all  compass,"  and  remarks,  "Why,  Sir  John, 
you  are  so  fat  you  must  needs  be  out  of  all  com- 
pass!"  Falstaff  proves  himself  "  touchy  f^  because 
PardoVph  finds  cause  to  qualify  his  observation 
immediately  by  adding,  "  out  of  all  reasonable  com- 
pass ;"  yet,  it  does  not  restrain  an  immediate  display 
of  Falstaff ''s  "  cynical  temperament,^''  for  which 
Bardol^Ns  face  and  appearance  furnish  a  subject. 

I  contend  that  there  should  be  "  marked,  a  strong 
contrast  between"  the  heartiness  of  Falstaff^ s  mirth 
according  to  circumstances  •  for  example,  when  he 
is  cornered  into  his  wit's  end,  to  escape  detection  in 


FALSTAFF.  327 

tlie  lies  which  he  has  just  told  the  PrinGe  and 
Poins^  and  swears — 

"  I  hnew  ye,  as  well  as  he  that  made  ye  I" 

the  exigency  of  the  occasion  (to  "  hide  himself  from 
the  open  and  apparent  shame")  and  2i  forced  mirth 
ought  to  be  discernible  in  the  acting — in  order  to 
characterize  it  distinctly  from  the  unctuous  kind, 
and  wherever  it  is  the  spontaneous  and  the  irresisti- 
ble ebullition  of  his  own  exuberant  fancy ;  as,  for 
example,  when  he  is  surveying  in  soliloquy  and 
luxuriating  upon  the  features  of  his  own  ragged 
regiment. 

That  Falstaff  feels  "  the  infirmity  of  age  already 
weighing  upon  him,"  may  be  proved  from  various 
expressions  of  his  at  different  times ;  says  he — 
''  There  live  not  three  good  men  unhanged  in  Eng- 
land, and  one  of  them  is  fat  and  grows  old  !"  thus 
insinuating  that  there  exist  but  tivo  /  one  of  course 
being  his  hing^  and  the  other  himself  that  king's 
loyal  subject. 

Respecting  Falstaff'' s  ^'  mental  as  well  as  bodily 
obesity,"  which  the  "  Times"  critic  also  discovers  in 
my  rendering  on  the  stage,  the  Prince  tells  him, 
when  Falstaff  inquires  the  "  time  of  tlie  day^  "  Thou 
art  so  fat-witted  with  drinking  of  old  sack,"  &c.,  &c. 

Extract  from  The  Times^  London^  June  27,  1851. 
"  Mr.    Ilackett^    the    American    comedian,   who 


828  FALSTAFF. 

favors  US  with  visits  at  very  long  intervals,  comes 
back  to  us  with  precisely  the  same  qualities  which 
he  displayed  years  ago.  There  is  probably  not  a 
more  conscientious  actor  on  the  stage.  He  has 
evidently  studied  the  speeches  of  the  fat  knight, 
whether  uttered  in  Henry  IV.  or  The  Merry  Wives 
of  Windsor^  w^ith  a  carefulness  worthy  of  a  com- 
mentator on  Sophocles.  He  has  a  definite  manner 
of  giving  every  phrase,  and  of  introducing  every 
jest.  The  finest  mosaic  work  could  not  be  more 
carefully  laid  down.  And  there  is  not  only  care, 
but  considerable  intelligence  evinced  in  the  render- 
ing. The  mind  of  an  acute  artist  has  evidently 
been  devoted  to  a  character,  with  the  view  of  dig- 
ging everything  out  of  its  hidden  recesses,  and 
making  of  it  the  completest  thing  in  the  world. 
And  yet  there  is  one  deficiency,  which  prevents  the 
Falstaff  from  producing  its  full  effect  on  the  audi- 
ence. (fThis  is,  the  want  of  the  ars  celare  arte^n  j 
you  approve  of  the  result  at  which  the  artist  has 
arrived,  but  you  always  see  the  pains  he  takes  to 
reach  it.'/ 

Memarh. 

If  this  critic,  in  the  subtlety  of  his  penetration, 
could  find  but  "  one  deficiency"  in  my  making  my 
Falstaff  "  the  com/pletest  thing  in  the  world^^  and 
that  deficiency,  too,  such  a  one  as  none  but  the 
most  unsophisticated   of   spectators   could    fail  to 


SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  829 

detect  to  be,  after  all,  no  more  than  acting^  or  stage- 
ai%  and  intended^  by  "  an  acute  artist,"  to  only 
represent  naturally  an  imaginary  character,  under 
the  particular  circumstances  of  his  varying  scenes, 
I  can't  ask  nor  expect  more  from  "  The  Times"  news- 
paper— ever  notorious  for  its  parsimony  of  praise 
and  its  liberality  of  censure  :  the  rule  of  that  press 
being  never  to  compliment  any  body  or  action  with- 
out a  ''  hut^'^  or  some  qualifying  reservation.  The 
dignity  of  its  policy  on  every  subject  and  in  every 
department  forbids  that  its  editor  can  be  fallible  in 
judgment,  or  ever  surprised  or  instructed  on  any 

occasion. 

James  H.  Hackett. 


.  SKETCH  OF  JAMES  II.  HACKETT. 

BY    CHARLES    J.    FOSTER. 

Chief  Justice.  What's  he  that  goes  there  ? 
Attendant.  Falstaff,  an't  please  your  lordship. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  though  the  triumphs 
of  the  actor  are  immediate,  they  are  not  lasting. 
The  fruition  of  his  efforts  is  quickly  gathered  ;  he 
hears  the  thunder  of  applauding  multitudes  while 
he  is  yet  upon  the  stage,  but  it  is  as  brief  as  it  is 
boisterous  and  intoxicatino^.  It  confers  no  endurino: 
fame  like  that  which,  ripening  slowly,  rewards  the 
authoi*,  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  and  the  statesman. 


830  SKETCH   OF  JAMES   H.    HACKETT. 

and  lives  for  ever.  Shakespeare  himself  may  have 
been  of  this  opinion,  for  he  likens  life  to  the  "  poor 
player,  that  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
and  then  is  heard  no  more."  With  all  due  defer- 
ence to  the  great  authorities  who  have  propounded 
this  idea,  it  may  well  be  questioned.  The  fame  of 
the  really  great  actor  is  not  as  evanescent  as  has 
been  supposed.  His  profession  is  one  of  the  polite 
arts ;  and  he  who  elevates  and  adorns  it  does  not 
merely  revel  in  exquisite  applause  while  upon  the 
stage,  to  sink  into  oblivion  when  the  curtain  falls 
upon  this  mortal  scene.  He  is  the  companion  of 
those  whose  pencils  write  their  names  upon  the 
pedestal  of  fame,  and  whose  chisels  carve  out  immor- 
tality in  indestructible  marble.  He  is  the  friend  of 
the  poet  and  biographer,  whose  pens  illustrate  and 
embalm  the  men  and  manners  of  their  time  for  all 
succeeding  ages.  His  fame  is  but  little  more  evanes- 
cent than  their  own,  than  that  of  most  of  those  who 
win  glory  in  command  of  armies,  or  shape  the  fate 
of  nations  in  the  deliberations  of  senates.  Roscius 
is  not  forgotten.  We  know  as  much  of  Betterton 
as  of  Bradshaw,  the  regicide.  Garrick's  fame  will 
survive  the  memory  of  the  monarch  who  fed  mutton 
npon  his  own  turnips  at  Kew,  and  philosophising 
over  the  baked  dumpling,  asked,  how  got  the  apple 
in?  Kean  and  Kemble  will  have  a  name  among 
polished  nations  after  the  vagaries  of  "the  finest 
gentleman  in  Europe  "  are  no  more  remembered  ; 
and  Talma  will  go  down  to  later  ages  in  company 


SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  831 

with  the  "  Man  of  Destiny  "  and  Talleyrand.  It  is 
very  true  that  the  actor  leaves  nothing  of  his  own 
behind  him,  by  which  after  generations  can  revise 
the  verdict  of  his  contemporaries,  nor  is  it  necessaiy 
to  his  fame.  His  finest  efforts  instantly  are  "melted 
into  air — into  thin  air  !  "  but  this  is  nearly  so  with 
those  of  the  great  orator  as  well.  From  the  neces- 
sities of  the  case,  we  accept  the  judgment  of  those 
who  saw  and  heard  them,  as  the  unquestionable 
guarantee  of  that  genius  which  commands  the  admi- 
ration of  everv  veneration  of  men.  The  fame  of 
poets,  painters,  and  sculptors  does  not  rest  upon  the 
judgments  of  the  mass  of  mankind  upon  their 
works.  How  many  men  in  this  age  have  seen  a 
fragment  from  the  hand  of  Phidias  ?  How  many  of 
those  who  hold  Raphael  to  have  been  the  greatest 
of  painters  have  looked  at  one  of  his  pictures  ? 
How  many  of  those  who  believe  in  Homer  have 
read  him,  except  through  the  ground  and  polished 
spectacles  of  Alexander  Pope?  I  grant  that  the 
notoriety  which  some  actors  mistake  for  fame  is  as 
short-lived  as,  to  any  man  of  genius  and  sensibility, 
it  would  be  unendurable ;  but  this  is  also  true  of 
daubers  who  think  they  are  artists,  of  scribblers  who 
believe  themselves  authors,  and  of  charlatans  who 
pretend  to  be  statesmen.  It  scarcely  needs  the 
investigations  of  future  ages  to  detect  the  impos- 
ture. The  foolish  of  Dryden's  time  thought  Settle 
a  poet — the  wise  knew  him  to  be  a  dunce.  Pen- 
sioners and  parasites,  in  all  ages,  proclaim  the  minis- 


832      SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.  HACKETT. 

ter  who  pays  them  "  a  heaven-born  statesman ;"  but 
the  bokl  and  honest  leave  it  upon  record  that  he  is 
a  wretched  jobber.  Everybody  knows  the  brazen- 
faced and  brazen-throated  mountebanks  who  pur- 
chase venal  praise  with  little  cash  and  many  bibu- 
lous gratuities  ;  everybody  knows  the  versatile  sons 
of  genius,  for  whom  no  tragedy  is  too  high,  no  farce 
too  low  ;  everybody  knows  the  admirable  men  who 
are  equally  excellent  in  presenting  the  almost  divine 
creations  of  Shakespeare,  and  the  delirious  concep- 
tions of  any  fustian  rascal  who  will  murder  the 
English  language,  and  massacre  his  characters  ex- 
pressly and  solely  for  their  use  and  behoof.  For  a 
brief  sj^ace,  and  among  the  green  ones  (but  not  in 
the  green-room),  the  fame  of  such  persons  seems 
almost  to  equal,  and  sometimes  to  surpass,  that  of 
the  really  great  actor.  While  his  greatest  excel- 
lence is  rarely  seen  in  more  than  two  or  three  cha- 
racters, these  fellows  are  declared  by  their  puffers 
to  be  line  in  all.  The  real  difference  in  kind,  how- 
ever, is  fully  as  great  as  the  apparent  difference  in 
degree.  It  is  a  cat's-eye  diamond  to  a  ton  of  coal. 
Both  have  carbon  for  a  base,  but  one  is  constituted 
brilliant,  to  endure  for  ever;  the  other  will  be  dust 
and  ashes  long  before  its  lucky  owner  is.  In  every 
polished  age  vast  numbers  of  people,  and  those  not 
the  least  informed,  have  taken  much  interest  in  the 
reminiscences  and  memoirs  of  truly  great  actors. 
They  enter  into  the  spirit  of  their  early  struggles, 
sympathise  with  their  disappointments,  dwell  upon 


SKETCH   OF   JAMES  II.   HACKETT.  333 

their  triuniplis,  and  devour  the  gossip  of  tne  stage 
and  its  antechambers  with  avidity.  Something  of 
one  of  these  great  actors  I  am  about  briefly  to 
sketch.  It  is  a  hibor  of  love,  for  I  believe  that 
could  Shakespeare  see  liis  plays,  as  they  are  per- 
formed in  our  day,  he  would  esteem  Hackett  as  the 
best  exponent  of  one  of  the  most  delightful  and 
difiicult  of  his  characters  that  has  trod  the  stage 
since  his  bones  were  laid  by  Avon  side.  Nor  will 
this  actor's  fame  be  evanescent,  in  my  opinion. 
From  the  very  nature  and  degree  of  it,  he  is  with- 
out a  rival  living,  he  will  never  be  without  admirers 
dead.  When  he,  and  you,  and  I,  and  sixty  years 
have  gone,  old  gentlemen  will  say  to  the  play-goer 
of  the  day,  "  I  saw  Hackett  in  Falstaff^  sir.  He 
was  the  finest  '  Sir  John '  that  ever  enacted  the 
character  !"  And  when  sixty  times  sixty  years  have 
elapsed,  I  have  little  doubt  but  the  dramatic  critic 
and  antiquary  will  declare,  "  the  real  Falstaff  died 
with  Hackett ;  and  one  of  Shakespeare's  master- 
pieces is,  as  yet,  no  more  !" 

James  H.  Hackett  was  born  in  New  York,  in  the 
year  1800.  He  came  of  good  stock,  and  is  now  the 
oldest  male  lineal  descendant  of  Ilaket^  a  Norman 
knight,  who  crossed  the  Channel  with  the  Conqueror, 
and  whose  descendants  were,  no  doubt,  men  of  mark 
among  the  Hackems  and  Slashems  who  followed 
Strongbow  to  Ireland,  and  Eichard  to  the  Holy 
Land.     The  actor  is  heir  to  the  title  long  held  by  the 

*  •'  .Uackdt,  of  Hackett's-towrij  County  Carlow,  and  Sbelton  Abbey, 


334  SKETCH   OF   JAMES   H.    HACKETT. 

Barons  Hackett,  of  Ilackett's  Court  in  Ireland. 
Some  of  our  cotemporary  journals  have  put  forth  a 
good  deal  of  nonsense  about  his  reasons  for  not 
asserting  his  right  to  the  peerage.  The  story  goes, 
that  he  does  not  claim  the  title  because  being  a 
recognized  gentleman,  the  equal  of  any,  in  America, 
a  British  Barony,  the  third  degree  in  the  peerage, 
would  degrade  him,  and  make  his  rank  relatively 
below  what  it  is  at  present.  Then  follows  the  old 
formula  about  "  good  breeding,"  "  worth  makes  the 
man,"  "honor  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise," 
&c.  Stuff  like  this  could  scarcely  have  emanated 
from  Mr.  Hackett ;  and  it  is  quite  certain  that  Sir 
John  Falstaff  would  have  treated  it  with  sovereign 
contempt.  Those  who  tell  the  story  are  not  even 
consistent  in  their  nonsense.  They  begin  by  prais- 
ing Mr.  Hackett  for  not  claiming  certain  rank,  and 
then  assert  that  he  does  not  claim  it  because  it  will 
lower  the  rank  and  consideration  he  already  enjoys. 
But  the  absurdity  does  not  stop  here.  'No  man  of 
sense  really  believes  that  the  descendant  of  a  long 

County  Wicklow,  derived  from  Dominus  Paganus  de  Hackett,  who 
himself  descended  from  one  of  the  great  Norman  Barons  under  the 
Conqueror  at  Hastings,  whose  name  appears  on  the  Roll  of  Battle 
Abbey.  Paganus,  in  more  than  a  century  afterwards,  accompanied 
Henry  II.  into  Ireland,  and  acquired  broad  lands  and  Seignories  there  ; 
and  his  descendants,  generation  after  generation,  were  subsequently 
parliamentary  barons  and  potent  magnates  in  Ireland." — Burke's 
Armorie  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland.     London,  4do.  1844. 


SKETCH   OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  335 

line  of  valiant  and  honorable  men  would  be  de- 
graded below  other  gentlemen,  anywhere,  by  reason 
of  his  succession  to  the  title  they  bore  for  centuries. 
Is  it  any  worse  for  a  gentleman  to  be  a  baron  than 
to  be  an  actor  ?  Grant  that  the  descendants  of  i^ell 
G Wynne,  and  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth,  will  have 
precedence  of  him  at  Court  on  certain  State  occa- 
sions— they  have  7iow^  if  he  goes  there.  They  have 
it  over  the  American  Minister,  but  who  declines  the 
embassy  on  that  account  ?  Again,  if  dukes,  mar- 
quises and  earls,  rank  above  the  Barons  Hackett  in 
Dod's  Peerage  and  the  book  of  the  Court  Chamber- 
lain, they  do  not  in  the  estimation  of  the  English 
people.  The  baron  of  ancient  degree  does  not  owe 
his  patent  to  the  compliances  of  wantons,  or  the  ser- 
vices of  chamberers.  The  names  of  his  kin  are  in 
Doomesday  Book,  and  on  the  roll  of  Battle  Abbey ! 
His  ancestors  were  among  those  "  barons "  who 
wrested  the  Great  Charter  from  John,  at  Punny- 
mede,  after  having  spilt  their  martial  blood  under 
his  valiant  brother,  beneath  the  walls  of  Ascalon. 

"  The  knights  are  dust — • 
Their  swords  are  rust, 
Their  souls  with  the  saints  I  trust ; 
And  honor  their  names  we  must." 

The   man   of  fine   genius  and  rare  intelligence, 
never  talked  as  this  idle  tale  supposes.    It  smacks 


836  SKETCH   OF   JAMES   H.    HACKETT. 

of  tlie  demagogue,  who,  believing  the  people  to  be 
as  foolish  as  he  really  is  himself,  endeavors  to  impose 
upon  them  by  clap-trap  as  wretched  as  that  shouted 
to  clowns  in  country  theatres  by  buffoons  barely  fit 
to  grin  through  a  horse's  collar.  Hackett  declined 
to  claim  the  title  he  might  have  had,  because  he  had 
achieved  fame  by  his  own  efforts,  and  because  he  is 
of  a  nation  which  has  wisely  discarded  titles  in  its 
economy  of  place  and  honor.  This  was  sensible,  a 
proper  respect  for  principle,  which  everybody  can 
understand ;  whereas,  nobody  can  understand  how 
the  taking  of  the  title  could  have  been  degrading  in 
any  sense  of  the  word.^ 

*  The  basis  of  this  newspaper-story  was  constructed  out  of  an 
after-dinner  and  incidental  conversation  in  England  in  the  autumn  of 
1839 ;  and  Mr.  Ilackett  was  reported,  by  an  American  correspondent 
who  happened  to  be  a  guest  also,  to  have  rephed — when  asked, 
"  Why,  possessing  an  attested  pedigree,*  he  had  not  claimed  the  iiile 
of  a  Baron  ?" — "  Because,  it  is  now  only  an  lionorary  one.  It  was 
derived  originally  from  a  descendant  of  Haket  (whose  name  is  still 
visible  upon  the  Pillar  at  Battle  Abbey  near  Hastings,  as  one  of  the 
Norman  nobles  and  Generals  of  William  the  First,  that  shared  richly 
with  him  in  his  Conquest  of  England)  who  attended  Henry  the  Second 
into  Ireland,  and  obtained  large  landed  estates  there,  but  has  become 
extinct,  and  is  now  only  recognised  as  having,  through  many  centu- 
ries, lastl}'-  and  properly  belonged  to  the  Peerage  of  a  by-gone  and 
since  disintegrated  Irish  Parliament,  Hence  the  title  is  now  only  the 
shadow  of  a  departed  dignity,  and  such  as  could  offer  no  temptation 
to  a  native  and  an  unostentatious  American  to  parade  anywhere  as 
an  appendage  to  his  family-name."  J. 

*  Issued  in  1834,  by  the  Ulster  King  at  Arms,  to  the  late  Edmond — the  last 
of  the  Barons— iZacl'e^^,  who  died  when  visiting  New  Orleans  in  1889. 


SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  337 

In  1815,  after  tlie  turbulent  star  of  Talma's  friend, 
jN^apoleon,  had  set  in  a  sea  of  fire  and  blood,  young 
Hackett  was  entered  at  Columbia  College.  His 
poor  health,  however,  prevented  a  close  and  long 
devotion  to  classical  studies.  A  severe  attack  of 
sickness  compelled  him  to  leave  the  college,  and 
after  his  recovery  he  began  the  study  of  the  law. 
But  even  thus  early,  the  works  of  our  great  drama- 
tists had  for  him  an  irresistible  charm,  and  much 
time  that  might  have  been  devoted  to  Coke  upon 
Lyttletou,  and  the  Commentaries  of  Mr.  Justice 
Blackstone,  was  given  to  Shakespeare's  plays.  He 
began  to  lay  the  foundation  of  that  large  and  accu- 
rate knowledge  of  these  works,  which  has  since 
guided  him  to  truthful  conceptions  in  the  closet,  and 
borne  such  splendid  fruit  upon  the  stage.  He  did 
not  pursue  the  study  of  legal  principles  and  practice 
long,  but  I  dare  say  he  mastered  enough  of  them  to 
appreciate  the  almost  marvellous  wisdom  which 
built  up  the  structure  of  the  Common  Law,  and  then 
devised  the  maxims  and  rules  of  equity  to  assuage 
the  sometime  harshness  of  its  strict  application.  In 
1819  Mr.  Hackett  was  married  to  Miss  Catharine 
Lee  Sugg,  a  young  actress  of  much  ability,  fine  vocal 
talent,  and  many  charms  of  mind  as  well  as  person. 
The  young  couple  settled  at  Utica,  in  this  State, 
where  he  embarked  in  mercantile  pursuits.  In 
Utica  they  remained  six  years,  at  the  end  of  which 
time,  desiring  to  extend  his  business  operations,  Mr. 

15 


338  SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT. 

Hackett  removed  to  New  York.  The  change  was 
unfortunate  for  tlie  merchant,  but  happy  for  the 
man.  He  failed  in  business,  and  his  wife  returned 
to  the  stage,  where  she  received  the  welcome  emi- 
nently due  to  her  talents  and  virtues.  On  the  first 
of  March,  1826,  at  the  Park  Theatre,  Mr.  Hackett 
made  his  debut  in  public,  as  Justice  Woodcock,  in 
Love  in  a  Village,  his  wife  playing  Rosetta.  He 
was  not  successful,  for  his  efforts  were  frustrated  by 
extreme  nervousness.  Perhaps  his  supposed  failure 
on  this  occasion  w^as  not  an  unfavorable  omen  as  to 
his  future  career.  There  is  an  order  of  mind  in 
which  high  powers  are  joined  to  a  self-possession  not 
to  be  shaken,  but  it  is  very  rare.  There  are  also 
two  or  three  other  things  which  may  enable  a  man 
to  stand  such  an  ordeal  without  emotion.  One  is 
stolid  insensibility,  but  he  who  is  preserved  from 
nervousness  on  his  first  night  by  that,  had  better 
quit  the  stage  at  once  and  go  to  rail-splitting.  In 
that  case  he  may,  in  time,  come  to  be  President, 
whereas  he  can  never,  under  any  circumstances, 
become  a  good  actor.  Another  is  a  flippant  self- 
conceit  which  keeps  its  possessor  in  blissful  igno- 
rance of  the  fact  that  he  is  making  a  fool  of  himself. 
The  first  efibrt  of  such  a  man  is  apt  to  be  as  good  as 
his  last,  and  that  is  not  saying  much  for  either  of 
them. 

IsTine  days  after  Mr.  Hackett's  first  appearance,  he 
availed  himself  of  the  opportunity  ajfforded  by  his 


SKETCH   OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  339 

wife's  benefit  to  go  before  the  audience  of  the  Park 
Theatre  again.     He  plajecl  Sylvester  Daggerwood,, 
witli  imitations  of  Matthews,   Kean,    Hilson,    and 
Barnes.     His  ejfforts  on  this  occasion  were  so  highly- 
applauded,  that  his  resokition  to  adopt  the  profes- 
sion  of  an  actor  was  confirmed.      He  soon  made 
another  "  hit,"  as  the  bills  have  it,  as  Dromio^  in  the 
Comedy  of  Errors^  Barnes  playing  the  other  bro- 
ther.    Hackett  gave  such  a  capital  imitation  of  the 
voice,  manner,  and  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Barnes,  that 
the  audience  were  confused  as  to  their  identity,  and 
convulsed  with  laughter  all  through  the  play.     In 
the  spring  of  the  following  year  Mr.  Hackett  visited 
England.     I  can  imagine  the  bounding  spirit  and 
emotion  with  which  such  a  man  treads  for  the  first 
time  the  boards  of  Covent  Garden  and  Old  Drury, 
and  becomes  familiar  with  the  haunts  of  Shake- 
speare and  rare  Ben  Jonson.     He  first  appeared  in 
London,  at  Covent  Garden,  in  Syl'vester  Daggerwood^ 
with  imitations  of  Kean  and  Macready,  and  stories 
of    American   life   and   manners.      The   latter,   no 
doubt,  of  the  old  Knickerbocker  folk,  and  of  West- 
ern characters,  such  as  those  in  the  Ai'kansaw  Tra- 
veller, were  vastly  amusing ;  the  imitations  of  Kean 
were  so  good,  that  Jones  induced  Mr.  Hackett  to 
play  a  whole  scene  from  Richard  in  the  style  of  the 
great  tragedian.     Hackett,  however,  soon  returned 
to  this  country,  where  his  excellent  performances  of 
Dro7nio^   Solomon  Swaj)-)   Nhnrod    Wildfire^   Rip 
Van  Winkle^  Monsieur  Mallet^  cJ&c,  procured  him 


340  SKETCn   OF   JAMES   H.   HACKETT. 

many  friends  and  hosts  of  admirers.  At  this  time 
he  was  interested  in  the  management  of  the  old 
Chatham  and  Bowery  Theatres,  hut  did  not  find  the 
treasury  of  either  establishment  a  Californian  placer. 
In  the  fall  of  1832  he  again  went  to  England. 
During  this  sojourn  in  London  he  played  at  Covent 
Garden,  Drury  Lane,  and  the  Haymarket,  conclud- 
ing his  engagements  by  playing  Falstaff^  in  which 
part  he  had  appeared  once  before  in  America.  In 
this  great  and  subtle  creation  of  Shakespeare,  the 
fame  of  Hackett  w^as  mainly  won.  He  may  have 
played  other  characters  very  well,  but  they  had  not 
for  him  the  scope  and  significance  of  this.  We  do 
not  see  the  stars  when  the  sun  is  shining.  Nobody 
cares  about  Dromio  or  Solojnon  Swap  when  sweet 
Sir  John^  portly,  rollicking,  full-to-the-brim-and- 
running-over  Falstaff^  with  his  fiashing,  many-sided, 
diamond-cutting  wit,  is  in  question.  This  is  quite 
natural.  Washington  may  have  been  an  excellent 
surveyor,  Jenner  may  have  had  a  capital  salve  for 
a  cut  finger,  James  Watt  may  have  improved  cook- 
ing stoves  or  candlesticks,  but,  inasmuch  as  the  first 
wrought  the  deliverance  of  America,  the  second 
discovered  vaccination,  and  the  third  invented  the 
condensing  engine,  nobody  thinks  of  tlieir  minor 
achievements.  Hackett's  name  has  become  identi- 
fied with  the  personality  of  Sir  John  Falstaff  wher- 
ever our  language  is  spoken.  To  play  the  part  as 
he  plays  it  is  to  do  what  no  other  man,  certainly  no 
other  of  this  age,  has  ever  done.     Falstaff^  one  of 


SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  341 

the  most  glorious  creations  of  our  great  dramatist, 
was  lost  to  the  stage  for  want  of  a  competent  inter- 
preter, and  with  him  sank  the  lesser  lights  who 
revolve  around  him  in  three  plays.  Why  was 
this  ?  Fat  men  were  plenty  enougli,  as  models,  and 
roguery  and  wine-bibbing  have  always  been  extant. 
Thinking  that  these  are  the  essentials  of  the  part, 
every  low  comedy  man  is  persuaded  that  he  could 
play  it.  The  manager,  however,  who,  according  to 
said  comedian,  was  once  hissed  in  it  himself, 
refuses,  out  of  sheer  envy,  to  let  the  favorite  of  the 
gallery  appear  as  Sir  John.  The  judicious  are  very 
glad  of  it,  for  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred 
we  should  have  all  the  grossness  of  Jach  Paunch 
and  none  of  the  wit  of  Sir  John  Falstaff.  The 
subtle,  mercurial  essence  which  informs  the  charac- 
ter would  escape  to  no  purpose  in  hands  like  these. 
Corporeally,  Sit  John  is  heavy ;  intellectually,  he 
is  lightsome  and  nimble  as  the  "  tricksy  spirit "  who 
ministered  to  Prosjpero^  when  he 

" be-dimmed 


The  noontide  sun,  call'd  forth  the  mutinous  winds, 
And  'twixt  the  gr 
Set  roarinsr  war." 


And  'twixt  the  green  sea  and  the  azure  vault 


Hackett  is  as  near  perfection  as  can  well  be  con- 
ceived in  this  character.  It  is  one  of  the  most  diffi- 
cult of  those  we  owe  to  the  immortal  author,  whose 
genius  created  it ;  and  it  must  have  been  a  favorite 
with  him.     The  marvellous  readiness,  the  rich  fancy, 


342  SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   ITACKETT. 

tlie  exuberant  wit,  the  imperturbable  self-possession 
in  circumstances  which  would  confound  a  hundred 
others,  the  manners  of  the  gentleman  never  departed 
from  in  the  most  ludicrous  situations,  the  real  good- 
nature which  underlies  the  disposition  of  the  great, 
roguish  rojsterer,  and,  above  all,  the  luscious,  unctu- 
ous humor  with  which  Falstaff  really  "  lards  the 
lean  earth  as  he  walks  along,"  are  all  admirably 
preserved  by  Hackett.  Sir  John^  mark  you,  drinks 
much  sack,  but  he  is  never  reeling  ripe,  like  Sii' 
Toby  and  Sw  Andrew^  in  Twelfth  ISTight.  "  If  sack 
and  sugar  be  a  fault,  God  help  the  wicked  !"  He 
goes  out  to  commit  highway  robbery,  but  he  is  no 
thief.  He  offers  Bardolpli  as  security  to  Master 
Dumhleton^  for  a  new  doublet  and  slops,  but  he  is 
no  swindler.  He  borrows  a  thousand  pounds  of 
Justice  Shallow^  but  says  to  him,  when  he  hears  that 
the  young  King  has  come  to  the  throne,  "  Choose 
what  office  thou  wilt  in  the  land,  'tis  thine !"  He 
runs  away  at  Gadshill,  but  he  is  not  a  poltroon. 
"  ]^ot  John  of  Gaunt,  your  grandfather,  but  yet  no 
coward,  Hal."  The  real  highwayman  ran  away  too. 
Each  took  his  fellow  for  an  officer.  It  is  true  that 
the  "  instinct "  and  epicurean  pliilosophy  of  the 
knight,  induce  him  to  keep  his  person  out  of  harm's 
way  as  mucli  as  possible,  but  he  had  more  of  it  to 
care  for  than  other  men.  The  common  notion  is, 
that  the  knight  is  without  courage  ;  but  this  is  a 
mistake.  I  will  go  to  the  death  for  it  that  Sir  John 
was  no  coward.     Let  us  look  at  the  circumstances 


SKETCH   OF  JAMES  H.  ^ACKETT.  34,3 

of  the  time,  and  what  was  happening.  England 
was  streaked  tlirough  and  through  with  the  turl)n- 
lent  passions  which  marked  the  era  of  "  the  roses 
red  and  white."  Tlie  fourth  prince  of  the  house  of 
Tudor  had  mounted  the  throne  bj  violence,  and  the 
second  Kichard  had  been  murdered  in  his  prison,  in 
Pontefract  Castle,  after  having  stretched  four  or 
five  of  his  assassins  dead  at  his  feet  with  a  pole-axe, 
wrested  from  one  of  their  number.  The  Percys, 
JS'evilles,  and  Douglases,  with  other  of  the  barons 
who  enabled  Henry  to  seize  upon  the  crown,  are 
now  in  arms  against  him.  The  dynasty  of  the 
Tudors  is  menaced.  Hotsjyur  rages  in  the  north, 
and  marches  south  to  Shrewsbury.  The  commotion 
about  the  court  of  the  old  king  j)enetrates  the  haunt 
of  the  Prince  and  Falstaff  in  Eastcheap,  and  young 
Henry ^  taking  arms  himself,  procures  a  charge  of 
foot  for  Sir  John.  He  must  have  known  whether 
he  was  fit  for  it  or  not.  At  that  time,  battles  were 
decided  at  sword  point  and  lance's  thrust,  and  every- 
thing depended  upon  the  conduct  and  example  of 
the  leaders.  Later  than  that,  Richard  of  Gloucester 
and  the  Earl  of  Warwick  won  great  victories  by 
their  personal  daring  and  courage.  The  Tudors, 
father  and  son,  had  everything  at  stake.  The 
Prince^  afterwards  a  great  captain,  procured  a  com- 
mand for  Falstaff.  It  is  incredible  that  Shake- 
speare would  have  permitted  young  Henry  to  do 
this,  if  Sir  John  had  been  a  poltroon.  The  latter 
would  have  disgraced  him  in  the  field.      Falstaff 


344  SKETCH   OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT. 

was  a  captain  of  his  making — the  chief  of  those 
boon  companions  with  whom  he  "  daffed  the  workl 
aside  to  let  it  pass  !"  It  is  true  the  Prince  calls  him 
a  coward  ;  but  Sir  John  calls  him  a  coward,  and 
Poins  another.  "  An'  the  Prince  and  Poins  be  not 
two  arrant  cowards,  there's  no  equity  stirring ! 
there's  no  more  valor  in  that  Poins  than  in  a  wild 
duck."  Yet  Falstaff  \w<^\n  better.  All  the  epithets 
they  applied  to  each  other  were  but  parts  of  the 
great  joke  their  lives  then  were.  But  here  is  irre- 
fragable testimony,  under  Shakespeare's  own  hand, 
that  Jack  Falstaff  was,  in  real  action,  a  brave  and 
doughty  soldier.  What  does  he  make  him  say  upon 
the  field,  where  there  was  "  no  scoring  but  upon  the 
pate  ?"  "  I  have  led  my  ragamuffins  where  they 
are  peppered.  There's  but  three  of  my  hundred 
and  fifty  left  alive ;  and  they  are  for  the  town's  end, 
to  beg  during  life  !"  He  has  led  them  into  the 
very  heat  of  the  fray — the  current  of  the  heady 
fight ;  and  now,  "  hot  as  molten  lead,  and  as  heavy, 
too,"  he  breathes  awhile,  and  jests  upon  the  dangei'S 
and  incidents  of  the  fight.  Is  this  the  conduct  of  a 
coward  ?  would  such  a  one  have  led  the  ragamuffins 
where  they  got  peppered  'I  Would  he  not  have 
been  pale  and  silent,  instead  of  hot  and  cracking 
jokes  upon  the  stricken  field  ?  Again,  see  how 
Palstaff  draws  upon  Pistol  and  drives  him  out, 
when  the  latter  vapors  and  flourishes  his  sword  at 
the  Boar's  Head  in  Eastcheap,  where  the  Knight  is 
carousing  with  Doll  and  Quickly.     And  then  again, 


SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  345 

in  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  lie  puts  Pistol  and 
Nym  down  by  that  authority  of  courage  which  they 
know  he  has,  and  they  have  not : 

"  Rogues,  hence  avaunt !  vanish  hke  hailstones — go 
Trudge,  plod  away  o'  the  hoof;  seek  shelter,  pack! 
Falstaff  will  learn  the  humor  of  this  age, 
French  thrift,  you  rogues ;  myself  and  skirted  page." 

Friends !  I  beseech  you,  for  tlie  credit  of  Shake- 
speare and  the  hero  of  Agincourt,  as  well  as  for 
that  of  the  knight  himself,  never  think  of  sweet 
Jack  Falstaff  as  a  coward  again. 

At  his  end,  w^e  see  that  the  great  poet  loved  him. 
In  his  last  moments  he  "  played  with  flow- ers,"  and 
when  "  his  nose  was  as  sharp  as  a  pen,  'a  babbled  of 
green  fields !"  Memento  mori !  His  dependants, 
too,  scamps  as  they  were,  loved  the  man,  as  appears 
in  King  Henry  the  Fifth. 

Pistol.  for  Falstaff  he  is  dead. 

And  we  must  yearn  therefore. 
Bardolph.  "Would  I  were  with  him,  wheresome'er  he   is, 
either  in  heaven,  or  in  hell ! 

Kym.  They  say,  he  cried  out  of  sack. 

QuicJcIy.  Ay,  that  'a  did. 
BardolpJi.  And  of  women. 

Quickly.  Nay,  that  'a  did  not. 

Boy.  Yes,  that  'a  did,  and  said  they  were  devils  incarnate. 

QuicMy.  'A  could  never  abide  carnation;  'twas  a  color  he 
never  hked. 

Boy.  'A  said  once  the  devil  would  have  him  about  women. 

15^ 


346  SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT. 

Isone  of  tliese  "base  companions"  had  an  end 
like  that  the  poet  gave  Fcdstaf\  unless  it  were  the 
Boy.  Bardolpli  is  hanged  for  pix  of  little  price. 
Quicldy  is  "  dead  i'  th'  'spital  of  malady  of  France." 
Pistol,  soundly  cudgelled,  goes  home  to  follow  a 
wretched  and  infamous  calling.  These  contrasts  are 
thrown  in  to  mark  the  superior  nature  of  Sir  John. 
The  rebuke  administered  to  him  in  such  harsh  terms 
by  the  young  King,  would  have  better  become  the 
lips  of  Chief  Justice  Gascoigne.  Harry  had  shared 
his  dissolute  way  of  life,  and  I  regard  this  sermon  to 
Sir  John,  as  a  sort  of  vicarious  atonement,  very  con- 
venient, but  not  very  creditable  to  the  King.  Some 
think  Shakespeare  inserted  it  as  a  homage  to  virtue. 
I  think  it  was  a  homage  to  that  resolute  and  imperi- 
ous woman,  Elizabeth  Tudor.  For  her  he  made 
Itichard  Plantagenet  a  humj^-backed  fiend  ;  for  her 
he  made  Harry  Tudor  a  saint  on  his  coronation  day. 
The  Merry  Wives,  in  which  Sir  John  is  made  a  dupe 
and  butt,  w^as  written  at  her  request.  Even  in  this 
play,  Falstaf  rises  superior  to  w^hat  would  over- 
whelm another  man.  Besides,  look  at  the  charms 
of  the  females,  Ford  and  Page,  employed  to  compass 
his  undoing.  Seductiveness  and  treachery  have 
been  the  downfall  of  many  a  man  since  Jack  gravi- 
tated to  the  bottom  of  the  Thames,  like  a  whale 
sounding  in  the  shallows  of  the  Antarctic  Seas. 

Mr.  Hackett,  in  1839,  had  a  very  interesting  cor- 
respondence with  John  Qnincy  Adams,  respecting 
the  character  of  Hamlet,  and  his  letters  establish  his 


SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  347 

critical  acumen.  lu  1840,  lie  visited  England  again, 
and  repeatedly  performed  FaUtaff  at  Drury  Lane, 
with  great  success.  On  bis  return  to  this  country, 
he  played  King  Lear^  at  the  Park  Theatre,  and  also 
at  Philadelphia  and  Boston.  Two  years  afterwards 
he  appeared  as  Hamlet  at  the  Park  Theatre.  His 
success  in  these  characters  led  him  to  undertake 
Pichard.  In  1845,  Mr.  Hackett  lost  his  wife,  and 
his  engagements  on  the  stage  became  fitful  and 
irregular  after  the  sad  bereavement.  In  the  winter 
of  that  year  we  find  him  again  in  London,  playing 
Falstaff  and  Hip  Van  Winkle^  at  Covent  Garden. 
He  also  appeared  at  the  Haymarket,  and  there,  by 
desire  of  the  Queen,  enacted  Monsieur  Mallet^  to  the 
great  amusement  of  her  Majesty  and  Prince  Albert. 
His  experience  as  a  manager,  like  his  walk  as  an 
actor,  has  been  large.  The  Howard  Athenaeum,  at 
Boston,  was  built  for  hi^n ;  and  he  was  lessee  of  the 
Astor  Place  Opera  House  in  1849,  when  the 
Macready  riots  occurred.  The  circumstances  of  that 
affair,  and  those  which  grew  out  of  it,  disgusted  him 
so  much  that  he  threw  up  his  lease.  In  1851,  he 
made  another  visit  to  England,  more  for  pleasure 
than  with  a  view  to  acting.  He  played  Sir  John, 
however,  in  Merry  ^Yives  of  Windsor,  at  the  Hay- 
market,  and  the  comedy  had  a  great  run. 

Even  the  brief  sketch  that  has  here  been  given 
will  suffice  to  show  how  varied,  as  well  as  great,  are 
the  powers  of  Hackett.  Sir  John  Falstaf^  is  all 
his   own.     Another  actor   of  reputation  would  be 


348  SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT. 

insane  to  afford  the  opportunity  for  comparison  by 
attempting  it.  Falstaff^s  belt  has  become  like 
Shakespeare's  magic — "  within  that  circle  none 
durst  walk  but  he !"  Hackett  is  one  of  the  most 
natural  actors  that  ever  trod  the  stage.  He  affects 
no  rant.  He  "  mouths  no  sentence,  as  dogs  mouth 
a  bone."  Too  many  of  our  players  imagine  that 
swiftness  of  utterance  is  vehemence,  and  that  volume 
of  sound  is  power.  In  no  character  did  Hackett 
ever  make  these  mistakes.  He  is  not  as  rapid  as  a 
mock  auctioneer,  nor  as  loud  as  the  town  bell-man, 
and  yet  he  moves  his  audiences  as  those  who  rave 
prodigiously  can  never  do.  His  engagement  at 
Niblo's  has  shown  the  hold  he  has  upon  the  taste 
and  affections  of  the  public.  May  it  not  be  his  last! 
Mr.  Hackett  resides  in  the  vicinity  of  I^ew  York. 
With  a  generous  competency,  the  reward  of  his  own 
exertions,  appreciated  and  cherished  for  his  know- 
ledge and  learning,  and  having  but  just  crowned 
and  passed  the  heights  whicli  decline  gently  into  the 
vale  of  years  on  the  farther  side,  his  life  must  needs 
be  happy  and  dignified ;  and  when  his  steps  pass 
down,  near  the  clods  in  the  valley,  where  the  long 
shadows,  betokening  that  the  sun  is  about  to  set, 
still  point  towards  its  place  of  rising  for  a  longer 
and  more  glorious  day,  "  all  that  should  accompany 
old  age,  as  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends," 
this  man  may  look  to  have. —  Wilkes's  Spirit  of  the 
Times,  Feh.  1862. 


SKETCH  OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETf.  849 


REMARKS. 

As  may  be  perceived  by  reference  to  my  "  Shahe- 
spcrean  Tvact^''  P^g®  316,  my  opinion  of  Falstaff's 
moral  claims  to  our  respect  is  in  direct  antagonism 
to  that  of  Mr.  Foster,  the  author  of  the  forefiroins: 
slcetch. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century  Maurice  Mor- 
gann^  Esq.^  the  same  who  had  filled  the  office  of 
Under-Secretary  of  State  to  the  Marquis  of  Lans- 
down  during  his  first  administration,  and  who 
became  afterwards  Secretary  to  the  Embassy  for 
ratifying  the  peace  with  the  U.  S.  of  America  in 
1783,  wrote,  as  he  professes  in  his  Preface,  "  origi- 
nally to  amuse  his  friends,  though  he  subsequently 
consented  to  its  publication,"  "  An  Essay  upon  the 
DramatiG  Character  of  Sir  John  FalstaffP  Mr. 
Morgann  seems  to  have  been  so  charmed  by 
Falstaff  that  he  became  blinded  to  the  enormity  of 
his  immoralities^  and  undertook,  like  some  profes- 
sional advocate,  to  maintain,  contrary  to  the  general 
opinion,  and  apparently  against  his  own  conviction, 
"  the  worse  to  be  the  better  reason,"  and  that  "  the 
character  was  not  intended  to  be  shown  as  a 
coward?''  Though  his  arguments  were  palpably 
sophistical,  and  utterly  failed  to  vindicate  Falstaff^s 
courage,  I  could  not  but  admire  the  talent  he  dis- 
played in  the  effort,  and  I  remember  his  ''  Essay  "^"^ 
as  one  of  the  most  amusing  and  ingenious  which  I 


850  SKETCH  OF  JAMES   H.   HACKETT. 

had  ever  perused.  As  an  actor  of  tlie  character  I 
am  far  from  thinking  it  necessary  to  dignify  it  or  to 
hide  or  excuse  its  moral  deformity  in  order  to  elevate 
any  merit  in  its  personation,  or  to  furnish  an  audience 
an  apology  to  themselves  for  being  attracted  and 
amused  whilst  instructed  by  such  an  old  reprobate 
as  Sir  John  Falstaff. 

Shakespeare  has  been  censured,  and  unjustly,  for 
making  the  Prince,  after  he  became  Henry  F.,  dis- 
solve his  former  intimacy  with  Falsta-ff^  who  had 
been  the  misleader  of  his  youth,  and  banish  him 
some  miles  distant  from  his  person  ;  for  had  he  con- 
tinued him  in  favor  and  allowed  him  near  his  Court, 
Falstaff  would  have  become  a  constant  cause  of 
annoyance,  if  not  an  absolute  nuisance  to  him. 
Besides  such  personal  reasons  of  the  King^  Shake- 
speare evidently  had  a  onoral  to  inculcate.  To 
crown  Falstaff  with  Henry  the  Fifth) s  favor  would 
have  been  to  reward  vice  and  immorality  instead  of 
punishing  them.  According  to  the  history  of 
Shakespeare's  time,  when  he  wrote  "  The  First  Part 
of  King  Henry  lY.^^  the  character  now  known  as 
Falstaf  was  first  named  Oldcastle^  for  which 
ofi*ence,  as  Sir  John  Oldcastle  had  been  histori- 
cally a  valorous  knight  and  an  honorable  gentleman, 
the  great  dramatist  was  censured,  and  he  therefore 
coined  for  the  character  a  new  and  an  appropriate 
or  indicative  name.  /The  staff  upon  which  Fat  Jack 
relied  to  support  him  through  life  was  composed  of 
his  wit  and  humor  and  self-assurance,  but  it  proved 


SKETCH   OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  351 

in  the  end  a  false  staff ;  lie  died,  after  the  "  King 
had  Mlled  his  heart,^^  disgraced  and  neglected  by 
Court  friend?,  and  in  the  tavern  at  Eastcheap, 
where  he  was  surrounded  only  by  his  hostess,  and 
his  former  lewd  and  licentious  companions  or  his 
humble  dependents.  The  idea  entertained  by  some 
critics  that  Shakespeare  had,  in  so  changing  the 
na7ne,  been  again  unfortunate  in  selecting  that  of 
Sir  John  Fastolf  who  historically,  like  Sii'  John 
Oldcastle^  had  been  also  a  hrave  man,  is  absurd  ;  he 
intended,  when  he  explained  that  "  Oldcastle  died  a 
martyr,  and  this  is  not  the  man,"  to  avoid  the  possi- 
bility of  such  another  personal  imputation,  and,  by 
the  new  name,  to  point  the  moral  whilst  the  character 
should  adorn  his  historical  play  ;  such  suggestive 
name^  too,  requiring  the  omission  of  only  two  letters 
in  its  orthography,  superfluous  to  its  sound  upon  the 
ear,  whilst  its  significancy^  when  pronounced^  was 
fully  preserved — Fal(se)staff. 

Fcdstaff  was  one  of  such  as  had  "  put  their  trust 
in  princes."  The  staffs  upon  which  this  huge  and 
extraordinary  mental  and  physical  compound  de- 
pended to  procure  him  a  secure  and  prominent  posi- 
tion about  the  Court ^  and  to  sustain  him  during  his 
latter  days  in  Royal  favor ;  and  indeed,  to  render 
his  own  presence  near  his  future  king's  person  so 
indispensable,  as  a  source  of  continuous  pleasure  to 
his  new  majesty,  that,  after  hearing  of  the  death  of 
the  father,  he  flattered  himself  "the  young  king 
would  be  sich  until  he  should  see  him  "  at  his  coro- 


352  SKETCH   OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT. 

nation,  consisted  of  certain  ingredients ;  such  staff 
had  been  formed  by  himself  out  of  his  natural 
gifts  and  his  artful  accomplishments ;  a  rare  wit 
and  of  an  ever-amusing  quality,  whether  pro- 
ceeding from  his  good  or  his  ill  humors ;  the  culti- 
vation of  a  social  and  familiar  intercourse,  boon 
companionship  with  the  heir  apparent^  a  common 
fellowship  among  "  barren  pleasures  and  rude  so- 
ciety ;"  a  ready  participation  even  in  absolute  high- 
way robbery,  which  had  been  suggested  by  Poins, 
and  consented  to  by  the  Prince  as  a  frolicsome  jest^ 
and  the  basis  of  a  practical  joke  against  Falstaff^ 
and  involving  some  personal  danger  to  him  cer- 
tainly ;  but  all  seemingly  consistent  with  his  selfish 
policy,  and  well  calculated  to  establish  his  special 
favoritism  with,  and  his  influence  over  a  wild  young 
prince  thereafter.  Out  of  such  materials  was  Fat 
Jack's  staff  constructed,  with  which  he  hoped  and 
expected  to  continue  to  live  licentiously,  and  to  defy 
the  good  ordering  of  society,  but  at  last  he  found  it 
to  be  as  false  as  a  jack-o'-lantern. 

The  great  and  always  moralizing  dramatist,  Shake- 
speare^ whose  immortal  mind  has  made  its  stores  of 
reflections  as  treasurable  to  us  as  they  will  be 
imperishable  throughout  all  time,  teaches,  by  the 
career  of  Falstaff^  to  Youth  the  danger  of  becoming 
corrupted  by  intimacy  with  old  and  vicious  com- 
pany, who  may  have  a  high  order  of  intellect,  yet 
pervert  it  to  base  uses ;  and  also  furnishes  Courtiers 
a  popular  example  and  an  instructive  caution   to 


SKETCH   OF  JAMES  H.   HACKETT.  353 

beware  of  placing  any  reliance  upon  liopes  founded 
upon  ministering  to  the  vices  of  great  patrons,  lest 
tliey  too,  like  Falstaff,  be  left  to  die  in  despair. 

James  Henry  Hackett. 

New  York,  April  23,  1862. 


THE  END. 


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Her  lectures  and  autobiography,  with  a  steel  portrait,     81.25. 

John  Doe  and  Richard  Roe. 
A  novel  of  New  York  city  hfe,  by  Edward  S.  Gould,    81.00. 

Doesticks'  Letters. 
The  original  letters  of  this  great  humorist,  illustrated,     81.50. 

Plu-ri-bus-tah. 
A  comic  history  of  America,  by  "Doesticks,"  illas.,       81.50. 

The  Elephant  Club. 
A  humorous  description  of  club-life,  by  "  Doesticks,"     81.50. 

Vernon  Grove. 
A  novel  by  Mrs.  Caroline  H.  Glover,  Charleston,  S.  C,  81.00. 

The  Book  of  Chess  liiteratnre. 
A  complete  Encyclopaedia  of  this  subject,  by  D.  W.  Fiske,8i.50. 


BY  CARLETOy,  KEW  YORK. 


Tactics. 

Or,  Cupid  in  Shoulder-straps.     A  West  Point  love  story,  $  i  .00. 

Sprees  and  Splashes. 
A  volume  of  humorous  sketches,  by  Henry  Morford,     81.00. 

Aronnd  the  Pyramids. 
A  new  book  of  adventure  and  travel,  by  Aaron  Ward,  81.25. 

Garret  Van  Horn. 
Or,  The  Beggar  on  Horseback,  by  John  S.  Sauzade,       Si. 25. 

Alfio  Balzanl. 
Or,  The  Diary  of  a  Proscribed  Sicilian,  by  D.  Minnelli,  81.25. 

Cbina  and  tbe  Chinese. 
Being  recent  personal  reminiscences,  by  W.  L.  G.  Smith,  $1.25. 

Transition. 
A  Memoir  of  Emma  Whiting,  by  Rev.  H.  S.  Carpenter,  $1.00. 

liUln. 
A  novel  of  Life  in  Washington,  by  M.  T.  Walworth,     81.25. 

Ijyrics  and  Idyls. 
**  Diamond  Wedding,"  and  other  poems,  by  E.  C.  Stedman,  7  5  cts. 

Tlie  Prince's  Ball. 
A  humorous  poem  by  Edmund  C.  Stedman,  illustrated,  50  cts. 

Gen.  Nathaniel  Lyon. 
The  life  and  political  writings  of  the  late  patriot  soldier,  81.00. 

Twenty  Years  around  the  \*'orld. 

Volume  of  travel,  by  John  Guy  Vassar,  Poughkeepsie,    82.50. 

Philip  Thaxter. 

A  new  novel,  with  scenes  in  California,  one  vol.  1  2mo.,  81.00. 

From  Hay  time  to  Hoppiag. 
A  novel  by  the  author  of  "  Our  Farm  of  Four  Acres,"  81.00. 

Fast  Day  Sermons. 
Of  1861,  the  best  Sermons  by  the  prominent  Divines,     Si. 25. 

Debt  and  Grace. 
The  Doctrine  of  a  Future  Life,  by  Rev.  C.  F.  Hudson,  $1.25. 

Fort  Liafayette. 
A  novel,  by  the  Hon.  Benjamin  Wood,  of  New  York,  81.00. 

Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  ITIan. 
A  capital  novel  from  the  French  of  Octave  Feuillet,         Si. 00. 

Sarah  Gould. 
Volume  of  miscellaneous  poems,  bound  in  blue  and  gold,  75  cts. 

The  ITIonitor. 
A  new  book  of  travel,  by  .Wm.  Hoffman,  illustrated,      81.50. 


LIST  OF  BOOKS  PUBLISHED 


England  in  Rhyme. 

A  pleasant  method  for  instructing  cliildren  in  History,   50  cts. 

Brown's  Carpenter's  Assistant. 

A  practical  work  on  architecture,  with  plans,  large  4to.,  $5.00. 

Sybelle 

And  other  miscellaneous  poems,  by  L ,  1  zmo.,  cloth,  75  cts 

"%Va-Wa- Wanda. 
A  legend  of  old  Orange  Cdunty,  New  York,  in  verse,     75  cts. 

Husband  vs.  IVife. 
A  satirical  poem,  by  Henry  Clapp,  Jr.,  illus.  by  Hoppin,  60  cts. 

Rouinania. 
Travels  in  Eastern  Europe,  by  J.  O.  Noyes,  illustrated,  $1.50. 

The  Christmas  Tree. 
A  volume  of  miscellany  for  the  young,  with  illustrations,  75  cts. 

The  Captive  Nightingale. 
A  charming  little  book  for  children,  many  illustrations,  75  cts. 

Sunshine  through  the  Clouds. 

Comprising  stories  for  juveniles,  beautifully  illustrated,  75  cts. 

Cosmogony, 
Or,  the  mysteries  of  creation,  by  Thomas  A.  Davies,      81.50. 

An  Answer  to  Hugh  ITIiller 
And  other  kindred  geologists,  by  Thomas  A.  Davies,      $1.25. 

Walter  Ashwood. 
A  novel  by  "Paul  Siogvolk,"  author  of  "  Schediasms,"    $1.00. 

Southwold. 
A  new  society  novel  by  Mrs.  LiDie  Devereux  Umsted,  $1.00. 

Ballads  of  the  "War. 
A  collection  of  poems  for  i86i,  by  George  W.  Hewes,  75  cts. 

Hartley  Norman. 
A  new  and  striking  American  novel  ;  one  large  i2mo.,  1 1.25. 

The  Vagabond. 
Sketches  on  literature,  art,  and  society,  by  Adam  Badeau,  $1.00. 

K)dgar  Poc  and  His  Critics. 
A  hterary  critique  by  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman,         75  cts. 

The  New  and  the  Old. 
Sketches  in  California  and  India,  by  Dr.  J.  W.  Palmer,  81.25. 

Tip  and  Do'n'u  the  Irrawaddi. 
Adventures  in  the  Burman  Empire,  by  J.  W.  Palmer,     $1.00. 

Miles  Standish  Illustrated. 

With  photographs,  by  J.  W.  Ehninger,  elegant  4to.,       $6.00. 


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